


Rectifier (Shuffling the Cards)

by grizzly_bear_bane



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Androids, Artificial Intelligence, BAMF John, Bane is a patient sadist, Bane is fond of his new little toy, Bondage and Discipline, Captivity, Forced Prostitution, Gotham under Talia's rule, John is not so insignificant in the end, John is reluctantly submissive, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Size Kink, Star-crossed, Tron:Legacy/A.I./Fifth Element references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-07
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:37:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grizzly_bear_bane/pseuds/grizzly_bear_bane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Created as one of the most coveted and expensive sexbots on the private market and reprogrammed by Lucius Fox, John is a top-notch android living under the radar as a human. </p><p>In a world where Talia al Ghul rules with an iron fist and her order for Bane is to purge Gotham of its android population, John's main objective is just to stay alive. </p><p>When Bane gets his hands on him after a battle with the last of the resistance officers, he condemns John to the Games, to fight other androids to the death which, to Bane's pleasant surprise, John excels. Amused by this, he gives John two options: Become Bane's toy, or his mercenaries'. </p><p>John doesn't fare well with the mercenaries, so Bane it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tamat9](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tamat9/gifts), [whalebarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalebarf/gifts).



> Ahhhhhh yeah! Here we go again! Another epic tale [and John tied up in a cot as per request, though in the coming chapters] :D
> 
> I've always wanted to do a verse like this, so here goes! I know next to nothing about technology and robotic jargon so if you don't know much either, this is the perfect fic for you! XD
> 
> Comments, critiques, and suggestions always welcomed. 
> 
> Enjoy!

++++

Gotham City was most beautiful after sundown. The skyscrapers glittered and sparkled, towering high like pillars of obsidian and were lined in soft, glowing streams of pale blue and white lights.

Laughter echoed out from the mouth of a cargo deck under the newly finished Gotham Stadium. Three construction workers waved off the truck as the last of the building scraps were driven off.

The shortest worker pulled the chain on the garage door and locked it shut. “Boy, am I glad clean up’s over. A few of the others are meeting up at Frank’s pub a little later, if you guys want to swing by.”

The tallest waved off his invitation. “No thanks, we can’t consume alcohol. I’m going home and rebooting all night. This body,” he patted his metal chest, “It doesn’t charge itself.”

“He’s right. We’re not like those fancy new models,” the third agreed. “I’m going to reboot and upload some more contractor applications.”

“Androids,” the first man shook his head. “Lot of fun you guys are. All you think about is work, work, and maybe when you got a little free time, more work.”

“You just said the word ‘work’ three times,” the taller android observed. Both robots looked at him concerned.

The human sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Yeah, I’m aware of that. I was making a—ah, forget it. Night, boys. Stay safe,” he added as an afterthought as they parted ways. He watched them leave, knowing what waited for them just on the other side of the alley but he was unable to say anything more.

The androids chatted back and forth, as they walked down the alley, lamenting the destruction of Gotham’s former aesthetic infrastructure for this new, dark, utilitarian design.

“In the past,” the older model explained, “Humans wanted to preserve historical buildings. Every cornerstone was ornate, every brick—hell, they actually built with bricks instead all this glass—every brick was placed and secured by men of detail orientations. Every tower was different, identifiable to humans based on the square top of one and the spiked tip of another. They had ‘personality,’ as humans would say. Who knows, maybe us boring, ‘work, work, and maybe when you got a little free time, more work’ androids are to blame for this new uniformity.”

They remarked on the new city hall's building project, barely noticing the figures up ahead, until it was too late.

“I would hope men of your trade would appreciate such austere architecture,” a deep and chilling, mechanized voice caught them off guard.

They were surrounded. The figure standing before them had a voice that rumbled like a truck engine but he was no fellow android. Bane’s bulk, his sharp, cold eyes, and his mask were enough to scare them still. Even if he wasn’t flanked by armed men, who looked as ravenous as a pack of hungry wolves, Bane was a nightmare all his own.

“Indeed,” he continued, “Androids are known to be quite fond of practicality without so many bells and whistles. Am I correct?”

The androids looked from one to the other. “Sir, we don’t want any trouble,” the older model responded, voice nearly a whisper.

Bane stepped forward. The androids had nowhere to turn. “Of course not. And all I want is to see a city where humans have the opportunity to earn their bread. This cannot happen if they struggle to compete with robots.” He placed a gentle hand on the robot’s shoulder. “However, I will grant that this new stadium is quite marvelously built.”

The second android turned his head away, unable to watch Bane crush his friend’s neck into pieces. When the body hit the ground, Bane rolled the severed head under his boot and pressed down hard, exposing wires and mangled metal.

“Humans _and_ androids built this city,” the android argued, his growing fear and anger made his vocal rattle, sounding nearly as distorted as Bane’s. “We worked together. I don't understand why you hate us so much.”

Bane’s eyes pierced him. “You must be a newer model. No more than a few years old, perhaps, to be so… expressive,” he mused, taking the robot’s hand and squeezing his palm until his exposed control disk released from his wrist. Bane studied the tiny chip between his fingers.

Thinking Bane distracted, the android turned on his heel, pushing past the henchmen, running fast. He only cleared a hundred yards before his vision blurred and his legs gave out. He tried to crawl, tried to fight the inevitable paralysis overtaking his limbs, but...

Within a few short minutes his power source died.

Bane stepped over the first fallen android, walking to the second with a lazy stride. “Clean these up,” he ordered the men to his left.

Sneering behind his mask, Bane sprinkled the tiny broken pieces of the control disk over the android’s cheek, watching the wind blow the metallic dust into the android’s hair and on the ground.

+

It took an eerily long time for John’s systems to reboot, to finally wake up.

The operating room light overhead was blinding when his eyes cracked open. His hand shot up to his face the first second his mind registered pain. The fingers on his hand, he noticed with a spike of panic, where naked, bare nuts and bolts and red and blue wiring.

Half of his face was missing as well, the metal cheekbone plate was cracked in. And for some reason, he couldn’t repair himself.

His panic level soared past yellow straight to red but another’s hand was there, carefully taking his away from his face and putting it back at his side.

“Patience, my boy. We’re not quite done yet,” Lucius Fox soothed behind thick glasses, still checking John’s vitals and assessing the damage.

The damage. John tried to run his own diagnostic test and his vision blurred, his system went haywire.

“Whoa, slow down, son. I’ve got you. See these machines here,” he pointed at the monitors and droids surrounding them, all beeping and scanning, drilling and unbinding various layers of John’s legs, his chest. “We don’t want them to make any mistakes in taking you apart so they can patch you back together. You’ve got to relax if this is going to work properly.” He paused, glancing to the corner of the white sterile room before eyeing John again. “Tell me something, son. Do you remember how you got here?”

Where was here? He remembered being in a dumpster. He remembered…

“If you’d like,” Fox offered, seeing John’s distress clear as day on the monitors, “I can give you a full system reset once we’re done here. Today is a new day for you, but… you’ve got some mighty ghost in this hard drive of yours.”

John contemplated this, wondering just how deep this man had delved into his memory, but it didn’t take long for him to decide. “No, sir.”

Fox nodded, “A brave but wise choice, son. Not all of us get to start over fresh, but we all got to have a past.” He turned John’s head to one side gently and pressed his thumb down where the bottom of his ear met his jaw for thirty seconds. It put his body in a rest setting, but his mind was still active. 

He thought about the man’s question: How did he get here?

He tried to replay the footage behind his intact eyelid but apparently his mind stopped recording as soon as the men started using him. Then he was in a dumpster.

Overhead he could hear Fox muttering to himself and to the droids pealing off the last layer of John’s top skin. Fox tsked at whatever he saw underneath. “I’m surprised, Mr. Wayne. You’re not one for picking up strays. Definitely not ones like this. You know Gotham’s an awfully dangerous place for androids.”

A gravelly, distorted voice rumbled from the corner. It did not sound like the Bruce Wayne John had seen once. “It would be a waste not to test his potential… With your alterations, he could come in handy.”

“Am I hearing you correctly, Bruce? Is the Batman really saying he needs a hand?” It was said in jest, but even John wasn’t so robotic that he’d miss the underlying question: Was the Batman really worried that he couldn’t defeat Bane alone?

“You can fix him,” Bruce asked instead.

“Of course I can, but the trick, my friend, will be if I can actually make him better, to fit your purposes.”

“That isn’t all,” the Batman said after a moment. “Can you give him a life?”

Fox paused and keyed something in on his tablet. “How much do you know about androids, Mr. Wayne?”

“I know that Talia al Ghul’s regime wants them all destroyed.”

“The purge of Gotham,” Fox confirmed solemnly. “Bane’s men have been working round the clock for the last year. By the end of the month? Maybe two? All the first generation androids in this city will be extinct; the rest were made bit a little better at blending in and hiding but Bane will find them too, sooner or later. These droids here, that build and destroy, assemble weapons and such, those are all fine. Those are clearly not humanoid, but androids… well, most of them are just fancier robots with a better grasp of Wi-Fi; they can some times do curious things, like deny commands, ask questions and process themselves into a state of constant code looping and freeze. To most small-minded people like Ms. al Ghul, that type of behavior in a robot is dangerous. To them it’s not a possibility of a glitch, it’s personality. And if a robot already looks human, moves like a human and now, can seemingly think for themselves like humans? Well…”

“Why wouldn’t the League use them as a tool to their advantage?”

“Because to them, a android—not just an android, but a militarized, super-intelligent one, for example—would put the whole entire League out of business. You’ve done right by keeping your whereabouts secret, because if the League knew that Bruce Wayne, a man with resources large enough to create such an android, was still alive and still in Gotham,” He shook his head, “This little fellow might not be the only one on the chopping block.

“Now this android here is one of finest I’ve seen, even banged up like this. See here?” He rapped his knuckle on John’s sternum. “This is top-grade material. Tough yet beautiful, built sturdy to last a long time. Very expensive. These multiple layers are a new design that only few people on Earth know how to work with. Each layer has it’s own purpose, the bottom most layers are for protecting the mechanics and the top layers are there to give the android the most human touch and texture. It’s regenerative as well, for healing.”

John twitched uncomfortably when Fox dug his fingers under his sternum to the release hooks. He could feel his bones unlock, his ribcage opened to reveal his heart and lungs.

“Beautiful,” Fox whispered. “He’s even got a steady heartbeat and lung expansion. Air is breathed in through the lungs, the lungs expand and in a windmill or waterwheel type fashion, it generates enough energy to function on a basic level. He can consume food as well, something that before last year was unheard of for a robot. It does nothing for the body but hey, when you’re taking your sexbot out on the town, at least you won’t have to dine alone,” he teased, clearly enjoying himself as he tested John’s nerve wiring, delighted by the little reflexive twitches.

“How does the power stay on,” the Batman asked.

Fox cleared his throat. “Well… I suppose I’ll have to rework that as well. Ought to do that first, in fact.” He made more notes. When Bruce wasn’t satisfied with that answer, Fox sighed. “He recharges like any other machine—it’s all based on his specific make and purpose.” He tried again, opting at last for the blunt truth. “Sex, Bruce. See, the ah… the receptors… here and here, they… well, his manual says it all depends on the type of sexual activity. It can range from a positive stimuli to the mind like a reward to the body – but the programming scans are detecting that it doesn’t last very long – to feeling what the monitors read as something akin to a buzz from a drug when the receptors… receive… an adequate amount of…you know,” he finally supplied.

The Batman chuckled beneath his cowl. “Never in a million years did I think a machine could render you speechless, Mr. Fox.”

“Tongue-tied is the expression you're looking, and yes, Mr. Wayne, I completely agree,” he grinned. After a while, he sighed, serious again. “I need to clear with you though, Bruce. He is very specific, he is very well designed, and well made. If you found him in a dumpster, it means that whoever owned him must have found fault enough in his perfection to have him tossed out and destroyed. And to do so publically? He clearly doesn’t fear Bane and his men. Even having an android found in your trash can get you in deep trouble. _Unless_ …”

“Unless whoever owned him works for Bane,” the Batman answered.

“Precisely. You’ve got a powerful enough man angry over having to get rid of his expensive toy. That’s strike one. Now you want to remodel this toy into, what? The ultimate sidekick, fighting machine? That’s strike two _and_ three against you.”

“Can you find out who owned him?”

“That’s all in here,” Fox tapped on John’s forehead. “And if you want him to have a life, we have to start by treating him like a person with a life. When he wakes up, you’ll just have to ask him about his owner yourself.”

“But you _can_ make him better,” he asked again, making sure.

“You know, Bruce, I don’t generally like to play God,” Fox answered carefully, “But… in this particular instance, I think… I’ll see what I can do.”

+

+

_“Good morning Gothamites. We open today’s broadcast with breaking news._

_Former billionaire Bruce Wayne was found dead last night in his home at Wayne Manor at the age of thirty-nine._

_Living as a recluse for over a decade now, many may remember Bruce Wayne for his ties to the fallen and reprehensible Harvey Dent, a man whose name and false legacy created the platform for the Dent Act and allowed for countless arrests. If not for our Liberator Talia al Ghul and Bane, her second in command, such laws would still cripple Gotham City today._

_Bruce Wayne’s most recent and most notable scandal may very well still be the blundering of Wayne Enterprise's stocks, a gamble that ran the multinational corporation into the ground._

_The League has taken over ownership of Wayne Manor and is now in the process of dismantling and redistributing Wayne Enterprises—no doubt a positive move that will benefit the city and its strong working class.  Our Liberator was at Wayne Manor in the early morning with this to say:_

_'Bruce Wayne represented the last of the former ruling class. As with an infection, the antibiotic has fully run its course. Our shared body can now continue to grow, stronger and healthier than ever before. His death should be received as a sign of equality conquering the imbalances of power that once held Gotham’s people in chains.'_

_Our Liberator has decreed that Bruce Wayne’s last will and testament be destroyed and all remaining assets given over to the citizenry._

_A special edition of the Games will be held on a specified date in honor of Bruce Wayne’s passing. Any androids turned into the League’s Gotham Deresolution Initiative will be put to the test in the Gotham Coliseum. Admission will be free—a gift many of you diehard Deresolution fans are sure to love—and tickets provided on a first-come-first-serve basis. In other news…”_

+

+

+

When John’s eyes opened the second time, several things became apparent at once.

He felt different, vastly different. John had never realized how constantly on-edge his body had been until now, never noticed the intense heat that would pool in his groin, telling him that his body needed sex again until that too was permanently gone. He felt relaxed. Content, almost. Almost… like he’d been dropped into another android’s body. But when he blinked down at his hands, they were still his. Not a physical change at all, it was much deeper.

A brief spike of panic hit. What exactly was his purpose now, his function, if… but no. That couldn’t be right. If John was no longer what he’d been created for then… Why was he still… here?

He wasn’t in that operating room anymore, though these walls were just as white. The lights overhead and glowing under the clear floor tiles were still far too bright. He sat up even as the foam mattress under the crisp sheets was so comfortable he wanted to sleep more—which was also strange. John had never known his body to register comfort before. Arousal, yes, but this? Feeling the softness of the medical gown and the – he touched, calculating – two _thousand_ thread count sheets? Yeah, this was new.

His calendar was off. John felt like he’d only slept an hour yet three weeks had passed. His mind was assaulted with a barrage of news updates. The foremost of which, week-old reports that Bruce Wayne was dead. Hiding under the sheets again seemed like a pretty good plan.

John heard Fox, remembering the sound of his specific gate, before the door slid open. The man looked aged about ten years more than when he’d last seen him, understandably so.

“Good to see you’re doing well, John. I'm always glad when something goes right in the midst of everything else going wrong,” he said, voice tired and a bit distracted as he slipped the needle from John’s index finger, severing its data feed into the monitor. John barely noticed Fox reading his stats. His finger was bruised.

 _His finger was bruised_. “How…” He looked to Fox for answers but his only response was to zap John’s bare leg with a small taser baton. He let a surprise yelp escape and caught Fox’s wrist when he moved to zap him again.

John quickly released him with panic in his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, I—”

“No, no, son, that’s quite alright. You’ve got superb reflexes. And an impressive grip,” he added, massaging his wrist.

John took it back in his hands working his fingers in soothing patterns with an experienced ease. Hurting a human was unthinkable. John couldn’t be more relieved that Fox hadn’t broken him for the infraction. He simply watched John with a scientific eye.

After a minute, he dropped his hands and swallowed, an action that wowed Fox even more, and opted to dive into the conversation headfirst. “So… Bruce Wayne is dead.” And so is the Batman and with him, John's redemption. 

Fox nodded. “Selina Kyle sold him out, led them to where he was hiding. A move that wasn’t very beneficial to her either, in the end.” He sighed. “None of your memories prior to Bruce finding you were lost during your deresolution, but I wonder, how aware are you of what’s happened to Gotham, John?”

John’s head tilted the slightest bit, eyes distracted as he leafed through gigabytes of information within seconds. It surprised him. Whatever Fox had done to make him better, he hadn’t be lazy in the details. All the images, downloads, even encryptions flashed across his vision at record speeds. He paused when Fox put a hand on his knee. The man hadn’t given him a command to research; he’d only wanted to know of John’s personal knowledge.

He frowned, redirecting his thoughts. “I’ve only seen recordings of the siege, clips. But, I wasn’t born yet.” An odd choice of words. "I was just made a couple years ago, I mean." His frown deepened. “I know that the city’s been divided into factions of those who support the new government, the resisters, and the apathetic. The apathetic people seem to be slowly migrating over to the supporter’s side, and the resisters are just… disappearing. And I know that there’s a target on my back because of what I am.” He tried to connect with another android’s Wi-Fi, but the other was offline. He didn’t dare extend his search, didn’t want to pile on even more bad news if his best friend had been found out and killed while he was away. “There’s something else,” he offered instead.

Fox’s brow rose. “Tell me.”

“I feel—well, I see three sets of information right now. I’ve never been able to process this much, on this level before. I wasn’t programmed for anything like this.”

“Part of your modifications. What are you seeing?” Fox took out his tablet and offered it to John. “Put the pad of your finger here. It’s okay. Now press down.”

John did as he was told. What he saw in his head was transferred onto the screen. It was scrambled, too many pages cluttered on top of other stacks of data. “The first from the League,” he tried to explain, “Paints Bruce Wayne as a terrible man. The city seems to agree based on these polls and the content the League broadcasts on this one news channel. They’re going to celebrate his death with… more android killing. That’s the only thing that isn’t encrypted on their end. All their websites and private information are locked behind walls and I don’t even know what languages these are—”

“Command your mind to translate them. Does that help?”

John blinked. “It does, yes. I can decipher this now. All of it.”

“You’ve already decrypted it as well,” he asked, in awe when the documents on the tablet changed into readable content. Fox smiled perhaps for the first time since Bruce's death. “Incredible.” If the Batman could have seen his vision become a reality. John was remarkable; Fox had outdone himself by leaps and bounds with this one. “Go on, what else is there?”

“Well there’s the outside media, for the rest of the territories. Their report from Gotham is that Talia—Miranda—and Bruce were old friends and that his will places her as sole beneficiary for everything, even the Manor.”

“And the third,” he asked.

“It’s from the resistance. They know Bruce Wayne was Batman. Their reports are… Well, you’d have to be an android to know where to look for the coding. It’s easy enough to decrypt then, but not if you can’t even find the little space—here—” these documents changed as well. “See?”

“Yes, we have one or two androids that encrypt our messages before sending them out to other resistance fighters on the outlands. The League’s handicapped themselves with their own agenda. No androids, no information they can obtain from our end.”

That put John at ease. Talk of the resistance fighters, most of whom were the last of the former Gotham police force, would get anyone in trouble if they spoke to the wrong person.

He wished he could organize this information better, only show Fox the research he wanted him to see instead all of his jumbled thoughts.

To his amazement, focusing on that task made it happen. He handed Fox the tablet as the video clips and documents downloaded to the device, a little unnerved. “Could I do this before?” He had a suspicion that no other android could.

Fox gave him a quick smile. “Bruce gave me no limitations on what you’d be capable of, John. The range of your abilities is unending. Perform a diagnostic test and you’ll see. You’ve been reprogrammed for combat, critical thinking, analyzing, researching, and provided with more modules for self-healing. So many wonderful possibilities, John. You can even sing now, if you ever feel inclined. Forget about who you were, or rather what you were, before. Focus on discovering all that you are now, and how it can keep you alive, keep you safe.”

“But Bruce Wayne is dead. What purpose is there now? I’m going to get derezzed again, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely not. I wouldn’t put my heart and soul into a project of this magnitude only to throw it away now that the game has changed. We’ve just have to reshuffle the cards a bit, your card.” Fox’s expression was pained as he searched for the right words. “The plan originally was to reprogram you as a helper for the Batman. Someone to pick up the slack since Bruce was getting older and a little slower on his feet. The first time Bane defeated him is proof of that. He wasn’t supposed to go up against him and the League again until you were ready. He thought he could trust Ms. Kyle—we all did. We were wrong. Nevertheless, Bruce was… Well, I suppose he anticipated something like this on some level. He made me promise on the eve of your inception that if this plan failed, you would be freed from this duty. You have all the tools you need, and me to help integrate you into society."

"What would I do then?"

"Well, up front, you've got three options. You can stay on and use those skills or, you can walk away.”

“What’s the third option? Could I even go back to sex work knowing what I do now?”

“Actually, the third option is that you can do a bit of both those first two options. You can walk away  _and_  still join the resistance.”

John frowned. “I don’t understand. How would that work?”

“The resistance forces are aware that an android was being built to aid in the collapse of Talia al Ghul’s regime. And while those forces aren’t killing androids outright, they aren’t doing much in the way of keeping them out Bane’s hands either. They want a tool, a weapon. And with Bruce gone, they would drive you to the breaking point and simply move on to the next plan once you burned out. Bruce wanted you to have a life. Can’t do that as a weapon now, can you? I’ve already told the old Commissioner Gordon that Bruce’s android project was a failure and was terminated shortly after his death. That way, you can leave here with your freedom and come back and join them on your own terms. As a human. Only one who knows your identity now is me. That’s what Bruce wanted.”

It was too much for John to wrap his head around. “But I’m not human. And,” he looked down at himself, “I’m tiny. I was made for… I barely weigh one hundred and fifty pounds and that’s with metal bones. I can’t make a difference if the police couldn’t, if… if even the Batman couldn’t. I’m more a target than a threat, to anyone. Probably even to myself, Mr. Fox.”

Fox’s tired smile was back with a weathered hint of mischief. “Game changers can come in all shapes and sizes, John. Being small means having to prove yourself, but I doubt you’ll have a problem in that department. Let’s test out a few theories first, before you make up your mind. What do you say?”

John was given a pair of sport pants and the monitor’s needle back in his finger to track his vitals. Fox ran him through several simulations and exercises, namely, combat exercises. In his hard drive was the ability to shoot, disarm, and subdue. Fox had uploaded every fighting skill and style he could think of; John moved with grace and ease. He didn’t have super strength, he wasn’t tall or muscular like the fighters he’d seen in and around Gotham, like Bane and his men, but he was agile. His defense attacks molded with the movements and patterns of the target droids in Fox’s workshop. John was mortified when he accidentally tore the arm off of one of the droids. Fox’s only complaint was that John had hesitated at all and made him do the exercise again.

Hours passed. John took the offered seat on the edge of Fox’s desk. They sat in silence, surveying the wreckage behind the observation glass. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. Hardly a change at all from his vitals, which he realized were all still operating on a ‘rest’ setting. It was unbelievable.

“I think you’ve proven my point, John.” Fox stood, his eyes searching but gentle. “The resistance is full of fools if they don’t see your potential. You can adapt. It’ll be hard work, but I’ve rebuilt you to perfection. I don’t normally brag, but it’s true. So make the most of Bruce’s wishes. That's all either of us ask of you.”

John looked down at his hands, at the bruises on his finger and knuckles. He could do this. He nodded, stealing himself. “What happens now?”

Fox shrugged. “That’s for you to decide. As far as Bruce and I were ever concerned, you’re a blank book and it’s entirely up to you how you fill those pages with your own story.”

“Okay. I’ll fight then, for Bruce Wayne.”

“Good,” he nodded. “There’s one more thing I’ve got to do here, before I forget again. Your barcode needs to be removed.” At John’s nod, Fox retrieved a scalpel from his supplies and sat beside him, positioning John’s back towards him. “The GDI drones can scan you until the cows come home, but without this, you’re off the radar for good,” he explained, dabbing a peculiar oil at the top of John’s spinal cord. It burned a little and turned the small area of skin red. “I’ve planted your new android chip under your tongue, so unless they actually go digging in your mouth, it should be impossible to spot.”

John could only nod again in a quick jerk once the blade cut deep into his skin. He gripped the desk’s edges, seeing spots.

Two things happened simultaneously when Fox carved the barcode chip from the back of his neck. The first was being introduced to his nonexistent pain tolerance. He wasn’t sure if its absence was a design flaw or a purposeful tool like all his other modifications and was too overwhelmed to ask. The gears in his stomach locked uncomfortably once he heard the grinding, wet pop of the chip finally snap free and felt the tingling buzz of his skin repairing itself. The second was the grim realization that, although he was full of _new_ programming and modifications, more than a few of the _old_ ones were still in tact. The barest touch of Fox’s fingers to his neck, even feeling the blade slide away from this annoyingly heightened erroneous spot, sent shivers down his spine, dilated his pupils, and traveled south faster than he could control it.

Fox hardly noticed, his attention lost in the glowing numbers on the barcode. He glanced over. “How do you feel now that this is out? Are you healing correctly?”

John blinked, wide-eyed, his hands folded over his lap. He touched the back of his neck gingerly. It still throbbed in pain. “It’s scarring. Is that normal?”

“A cut that deep, yes. For humans it’s quite normal.”

He swallowed. “Okay. Yeah, I feel okay.” He was in pain, but his erection was gone and he’d stopped self-lubricating. That was good enough. Maybe his blush would go down as well eventually, if he was lucky.

“Perfect,” Fox stood, patting John’s shoulder. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up and start getting you reintegrated, Mr. Blake. You’ve got a driver’s license, a birth certificate, and a set of apartment keys to collect upstairs when you’re ready.”

John obediently followed close behind, his head down. He caught himself falling back into this old programming behavior and decided that now was as good a time as any to take a risk. He changed his stride, shoulders straight, eyes up, the way Fox walked ahead of him. It was a little confusing at first but he figured learning how to walk like a human would be the least of his worries.

Have a life, be human.

John resigned himself to the idea that he may never really grasp what being human actually was.

+ 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *if this too is riddled with typos...I'm sorry. I swear I proofread and then crazy shit happens in spite of that, so yeah, my type game is at 12%. So sorry.* 
> 
> *cries*
> 
> Enjoy.

++++

 

Mickey couldn’t sleep. He was pretty sure that John couldn’t either.

They didn’t have sex; he was a little disappointed. It was always refreshing to share space with another android after swimming through so many icky human hands all week. But John simply did not do sex anymore, which, he had to give that human credit, if John of all androids didn’t do sex he might as well not be the same robot anymore. For Mickey it was like having his twin replaced, at first, but at least the cuddling was still as nice as it always had been, anyways.

Mickey sat up against the headboard with a contented sigh when John rolled over. The little tingling in his spine felt good. Any kind of skin contact with John made him feel better. The simple fact that John was still alive, still _here_ , still coming back every so often to check in on him when he could have easily forgotten about Mickey, it sent another happy tingle up his spine.

He stretched and lit a cigarette only because he knew it would irk his best friend’s heightened sensory functions. The radio in his ear clicked on. He opted for John’s favorite Edith Piaf mp3s to help the android relax; the music drifted from his ear at quiet volume. “So…” he let the word hang in the air, wondering if the steady rise and fall of John’s back under the covers meant that he’d fallen asleep.

Of course not, Mickey mused, John’s been reprogrammed into a good robot. He operates by schedules now.

John sighed, “What is it?” He was staring at the digital clock blinking behind his eyelids. 06:39AM. He would have to leave soon.

“Is this the time when we have the discussion in which you try to convince me to get reprogrammed again and I try to convince you to leave that shitty resistance force? Or are we actually going to enjoy this nice moment between old friends,” he smiled with bedroom eyes.

John grinned against the pillow and turned to face Mickey. “Well, you _are_ the sexbot with the best pillowtalk application. And since you brought it up…” he teased. It still surprised him sometimes, looking at his best friend, thinking of how their lives had turned out so differently and yet, they were still here. How could they _not_ stick together in the face of what they were up against?

Mickey chuckled, elbowing John in the head playfully. “Here we go again… Hey. Congrats on your promotion with the resistance by the way. You’ll be the cutest revolutionary in history. You nervous?”

John folded his arms behind his head. “Completely. Think you can make it to the meeting they’re having in two days?”

He shrugged. “You know I will if I can.”

“Which is a nice way of saying you won’t.”

“Can you blame me? _Me_ , in a room full of pissed off ex-cops, cops who hate you, cops who want to arrest me, cops who would beat the circuits out of us both if they just had one little chance? And that’s if I even make it from this apartment to their base without running into a GDI drone first," he huffed. "Yeah, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Lucius Fox will be there. He could help you, you know.”

“He’s the guy who reprogrammed you, right? So, it will be him that I go after when you get derezzed again because no one on your team has your back. Why not something like, I don’t know, encourage you to be a researcher or something, use that new and improved search engine in you head, not your body. You’ll be on the front line, every time now.”

John turned towards him. “It’s worth it. I’m not doing this for them. If it wasn’t for Mr. Wayne and Mr. Fox, I wouldn’t be here right now. And Mr. Fox has me living in a better part of the city. It’s safer; Bane’s men don’t patrol there so often,” John pushed as delicately as he could. When Mickey didn’t offer up so much as a glance, he sighed, not giving up. “Are you still working for Daggett,” he asked, tiptoeing the line with Mickey.

Mickey was modeled with the best bedroom smile money could buy which was why John knew it was forced. Mickey kicked the covers off of his legs and showed John the quarter-sized dents on his ankles. “He thought it was really funny when one of his friends pulled out my bellybutton. I gave him lip, so he went after me with a hammer. Still haven’t figured out how to repair this.” He shrugged. “Are you still working with _Foley_ , John,” he bit back.

John hid his grimace. Foley was the only one who’d figured out John’s past identity after seeing him get stopped by GDI drones one too many times. The man wasn’t completely sure just _what_ John was since the drones never did more than scan him and move on, but he knew enough, enough to take advantage of John’s secret and blackmail him.

He’d dealt with worse. What Foley did from time to time paled in comparison to what Mickey faced everyday. “You know I can help you. Get you out.”

Mickey’s radio clicked off. He sighed. Hope in John’s voice wasn’t a new feature. “No, John,” he rubbed his eyes tiredly, needing a recharge, hating that their brief moments always ended like this. “I won’t allow you to take care of me. I would just slow you down. I do decent enough for me.” Bitter anger seeped through, but it wasn’t directed at John. “He talks about you all the time, like he misses you or something. Boy would he be pissed if he saw you. There’s no way he could afford you as you are now. You’re worth at least twenty of me,” he chuckled, “He’d destroy me for sure if he found out you’d been recompiled, and as a cop, no less. I could be giving you all kinds of incriminating shit on him and his boys,” He puffed smoke, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Mickey—”

“Doesn’t matter anyways, since he’s got my android disk. He wears it as a battery in his brand new watch—What, did you think after those two android girls made it out of the city, that Daggett wouldn’t find a way to keep his prized boybot on a leash? It fucking sucks too, since we can only go but so far without them, and if it's damaged, I'm toast forever. He took a trip out to Wayne Manor to pay his dues last week and left me on the other side of the city with one of his friends, so imagine the chaos that ensued when I froze on the guy’s lap for an hour because my chip was out of range.” He exhaled a few smoke rings before adding, “And if you think _I_ was in pain, imagine how the guy felt with his very human, very fragile dick stuck in a robot long enough for his wife to come home and see him in such distress. Poor thing,” he cooed, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he chuckled over the memory.

John stared up at the ceiling, a deep frown set into his face. Mickey shook his head and lit another cigarette.

They didn’t speak for a long while until John finally shared what was on his mind. “Some of Marko’s body turned up yesterday. Just like David’s. They’re getting closer.”

Mickey glanced over. John’s frown was heartbreaking. He leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I’m sorry. John, don’t beat yourself up over it. You can’t save every android in Gotham.” He pulled John into his arms, holding him tightly. “All my hard work keeping you on your feet. Don’t waste it by sticking your neck out for those humans you work for. And always, keep being careful, and _good_. They only hate you because you’re wicked smart, and young, and can kick ass. And you’re selfless. You’re better than them, and me. You are.”

“I’m _worried_ , is what I am. Terrified. What if…”

Mickey hushed him, rubbing his ears. “I’ll be fine. Take care of your situation first, okay? I can’t have my white knight trying to save me with chains still around his own feet. Then you can come for me and help get my control disk back. Deal?” He ruffled John’s hair, showing a whisper of a genuine smile for the first time that night.

 

John bundled up against the cold early morning air as he walked the streets back to the subway, distracted.

A GDI drone covered in protest graffiti hovered on the other side of the deserted street. It zoomed over quickly when it spotted John, blocking his path until it finished circling him with its orange scanners. John’s shoulders were tense, each tiny little hair on the back of his neck rose. He tried not to hold his breath but it tumbled out of him like a flood of hot air when the drone turned away and hovered down the street, straight past a homeless man pissing into a sewer drain. Like the man was invisible.

Like the man was _human_ , John corrected himself. He’d been stopped at least a dozen times since Fox turned him loose and yet every time, nothing happened. He always braced himself for the day when a drone actually did more than blink at him.

Saying goodbye to Mickey was always difficult. Neither of them knew if it was going to be their last. They’d stuck together since their prototype days and were now operating on borrowed time, Mickey more so than John now that the drones couldn’t get a solid read on him.

His friend would be out in a few hours, turning tricks for careless humans, men who worked right under the League’s nose. And for what? Just to make a millionaire like Daggett a few dollars richer so he could pay off the League to let him keep his toys. An _infection_ upon the body of Gotham, indeed.  

Maybe John would get to see Mickey again in another week or two, hopefully in a few days at the meeting, introduce him to Mr. Fox.

Or, maybe their time would run out before then... John didn’t know.

Gotham was a beautiful city yes, but _ruthless_.

+

Heavy rain poured from the thundering sky. Bane’s boots tracked mud across the polished foyer at Wayne Manor. The maids kept their heads down but he didn’t miss the frown on the lady still holding the mop, the floor just cleaned not a moment before.

His arm shot out, halting two of his mercenaries from walking further and made them shake off their own boots while a maid knelt and cleaned the sole’s of his.

“We are in Talia’s house,” he informed them with a chastising glare, “Be courteous to the people who maintain its cleanliness.” He nodded to the maid when she stepped back though if she saw this he didn’t know. No ones eyes ever rose above his neck if they could help it. Bane caught Barsad’s shadow of a smirk as they waited patiently for the two other men to remove their soaked coats and hats. “Much better. Thank you.”

“You’re very lenient with your scolding,” Barsad teased quietly as they took the stairs, leaving the other men to wait in the lobby. When Bane glanced his way he explained, “You forgot to tell them to sit still and not to touch anything.”

Bane chuckled. “Four years and the men of Blackgate must still be coddled like unruly children. Remind me to switch them all with the men down in the tunnels. Our brothers deserve some fresh air.”

His boots thudded up the stairs but not loud enough to muffle the shouting just up the large hallway.

He recognized Daggett’s voice at once, the barely there lisp when the man threw a tantrum, whining, a spoiled brat long outlasting his usefulness. Bane was curious to know just what angered the man enough to lose his composure in the face of Gotham's leader. He hoped, for Daggett’s sake, that he at least brought with him enough firepower to backup his disrespect.

Of course, when Bane and Barsad stepped over the threshold to Talia’s office, the arrogant, foolish man stood alone in Talia’s presence.

Talia sat at her desk sipping tea from a white china set. She was very pretty, like a doll in a conservative dress. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders in curls. She looked especially like her mother in this moment. It only warped Bane’s curiosity into boiling anger that Daggett would dare talk to her in such a way.

Her eyes flickered to Bane, a smile played on her lips. It enraged Daggett.

“Unbelievable,” he scoffed, “You and all your people here all think I’m joke, right? Is that it? Well, I’ll tell you _missy_ , I’ve still got ties to other territories. I don’t have to do business with you if you think you can take _anything_ away from _me_. I’ll tell you right now, you’ve got another thing coming. You and that masked—”

“Mr. Daggett,” Bane’s voice bloomed from behind him, startling him enough to take a step to the side away from both Talia and Bane.

“Your temper has gotten the better of you. And now, you’ve forgotten your place,” Bane observed. “How unfortunate.”

“Tell me Bane,” Daggett bit out, his anger blinding him, “How does it feel to be the lapdog to a little girl, huh? Or do you get off on it?”

Bane clasped his hands in front of him, listening politely to Daggett rant until the smaller man finally ran out of steam. His eyes locked with Daggett’s, glaring even after the man caved and looked at the floor near Bane’s feet. “Why do you still humor this man, Talia?”

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Daggett sneered, hotly, his face red. “You've got a lot of nerve—”

“I must agree with you, Bane.” Talia stood, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she walked around her desk towards Daggett.

He opened and closed his mouth several times but paused when Bane didn’t look inclined to do more than stare back at him. Daggett chuckled. “Well, I always thought Bruce Wayne was the one keeping you on a leash,” he addressed Talia but his eyes stayed smugly on Bane, “But it was Bane the whole time. Tell me, how do you keep her in check. Is it—”

Talia snapped his neck and returned to her desk, hardly concerned to have a body on the Persian rug in the middle of her office. “It’s always sad when men are unnecessarily disrespectful,” she lamented, wiping her hands on an ornate handkerchief. She beckoned a maid to pour tea for her guests; half of it was spilt on the floor from the girl’s trembling hands.

“Yes,” Bane agreed, distracted by the dim, glowing sliver of light peeking through Daggett’s broken watchface. “Hm…” He picked it up, discarding the loose pieces of glass and gold, studying the shining disk. “I wonder which one this belongs to.”

“Mr. Daggett’s favorite, most likely,” Talia mused, eyes alight with mirth as Bane ground the small chip to dust over Daggett’s body. “I’m sure your men are all tired of living underground. You know, he has a penthouse…”

“Full of androids,” Bane growled.

“Indeed. Mr. Daggett is a very naughty man— _was_.” Talia smiled sweetly, watching Barsad riffle through Daggett’s suit jacket until he found the keycards to the car out front and the penthouse. “Let me know when you’re moved and settled in. I would much enjoy visiting you someplace nice,” her eyes travelled to Daggett’s body, “where I won’t have to get my hands dirty.”

Bane chuckled. It rumbled up and out of his chest as he sat down in the corner sofa near the massive bookcases. “I would like that very much.”

+

John leaned against the back wall of the base, trying to listen to Gordon and the other elder leaders speak, but…

Mickey wasn’t here. John new that the android wasn’t the best when it came to following through with plans, but something was different. Mickey would have made it here tonight to celebrate John’s accomplishment. He would have done everything he could, even if he couldn’t stay long, to be here.

John was drowning in confusion. His body felt weird, like it wasn’t his again, because the normal John would be able to focus and wait to deal with whatever had happened later. This new John? This new John wanted to run now and curl up in a tiny space, like the cabinet under his bathroom sink, and cry, even knowing that androids couldn’t cry anymore than they could bleed.

“What’s the matter, Blake? Your Wi-Fi signal cut out or something,” Foley chuckled when he made his way over. Everyone else was still wrapped up in Gordon’s instructions.

John glared at him, angry with himself for not hearing the man sneak up. He trained his eyes on Gordon, in no mood to play Foley’s games tonight.

“What’s this,” Foley goaded in his ear as the other men gathered around the stockpile of weapons, handing out supplies. “Cat got your tongue, Blake? You always run your mouth off in front of Gordon, now your lips are tight just like that little ass, huh?”

John glanced his way again, hiding his disgust well. He’d had plenty of time over the last several weeks to fine-tune his responses towards this man. He wanted to bash Foley’s head into the wall at his back until it or the former Deputy Commissioner’s head cracked open, but he had to keep cool and remember why he was here, what he was fighting for.

If Mickey was… if Mickey had been deresolutioned, or if he was trapped, hurt somewhere, stressing over it until his control disk overheated wouldn’t help John to do his job tonight. He pushed up off the wall and joined the others. He would deal with Foley later too, when there was time.

They all split up into groups of five, Gordon taking his group north, Foley’s south, while the group John was in took to the east. They were ventured out on the patrol together and split up after the curfew bell sounded at midnight. At 3AM, when the League’s armored truck drove in from the west, they would ambush and take the weapons. This particular truck carried important tablets with League blueprints for new construction projects and secret documents from their partnerships with private citizens as well; those wealthy enough to buy protection from the League. If they could disrupt this shipment, those tablets would be extremely important.

 

John heard it, and knew that none of the humans around him could. The more ground they covered the louder the sound became. He couldn’t place it at first and then—

He skidded to a halt. A GDI drone’s alarm was sounding off a few blocks up the street. He wanted to run to it, thinking of Mickey, and at the same time run away. The siren was deafening, nearly crippling by the time the others heard it and rushed forward, taking cover behind newsstands and parked cars.

John leapt over a short construction barrier and hid in the dark archway of the abandoned storefront, taking his gun out its holster. His thumb pressed the safety button down, feeling the gun vibrate in his hands as it recharged and compressed, ready to fire when needed.

It didn’t take long for the android to round the corner at a dead run, the drone hot on her heels. John peeked through the gaps in the barrier distressed that no one close by was helping her. It would be simple to take out the drone with one shot from a larger pressure rifle—and it would keep their location secret. No doubt, mercenaries were on their way to catch the android. And yet, no one with a clear shot and firepower moved forward. It didn’t make sense, all three groups were where they needed to be for the drop off, so what held them all back?

John moved to act himself, he would have to run a ways down the block to get the shot he needed, but an older officer had taken cover a few feet away and saw him, nearly tackling John to the ground to keep him still.

“You blow our cover,” the man hissed, “and I will personally blow your head off, rookie.”

“She needs our help. Isn’t what we trained for?”

“We’re here for the supply truck. She’s just a robot, Blake. I’m not risking my ass for—” his words were cut off by the woman’s screams as a gunman blew a hole through her back. She was an older model; motor oil pooled under her body where she’d fallen.

John sat down on the pavement, numb. The others never batted an eye as the mercenaries played with her in the street, ripping her limbs off and tearing out her hair as souvenirs before one dropped a lit match into the puddle of oil. Everyone watched her go up in flames.

Except John. He closed his eyes and gripped the sidewalk, taking deep breaths, willing the anger to roll through him.

Was this the vision Batman had in mind? If so, then why was John here?

The mercenaries followed the drone as it hovered down the street, still wrestling with the android’s arms. John watched the minutes pass by behind his eyelids, needing something to ground him.

Mickey was still offline. That out-of-body feeling returned but John had no time to analyze it now that he could hear the engine of the armored truck humming down the block.

John picked up his gun but, rather than let it recharge again, he put the safety back in place and holstered it. This wasn’t his battle to fight; he knew that now. His place was finding Mickey, if he wasn’t already too late. He stayed low, crawling to stay hidden behind the barrier.

The other cop’s voice drifted behind him.

“What the hell does Foley think he’s doing? Jesus man, get down,” he’d whispered.

John peeked over the barrier. The armored truck wasn’t alone. A group of mercenaries flanked its sides, all manner of weaponry ready in case of attack. At the front was Bane’s second-in-command, Barsad, walking at a leisurely pace like a tourist on an early morning trek through the sleeping city.

He could see Foley creeping forward, without backup or cover. John knew that hungry look in his eye. Foley wanted the pleasure of being the one man to take this vital figure to the League down.

Only, taking down the titan was impossible, even with as many vantage points as the resistance had now.

Most of the men, including Gordon were turning back, understanding that this battle was already lost if Barsad was here.

Foley didn’t seen to care, blinded by arrogance. He didn’t know what John and his infinite decoding technology had gathered on Bane’s men, the foremost of which being, that Barsad was just as lethal as his leader.

The cop at John’s side was still cursing under his breath when Foley stepped out of the shadows with his long-range shotgun, a smug grin on his face when Barsad waved his hand at his men and to the truck to stop. He alone stepped forward.

A few of Foley’s closest lackeys followed suit and joined him on the street, outnumbering Barsad.

“Former Deputy Commissioner. What a pleasant surprise,” he commented, his stride too confident for a man outnumbered and outgunned. Anyone with a good mind could see that this was a trap, however, John had the sinking suspicion that he was alone in his revelation.

“Seems you’ve run into a bit of a problem, son. How should we settle this,” Foley asked, looking around, cocky enough to blow everyone’s cover.

Barsad’s eyes tracked Foley’s, no doubt the other mercenaries did the same. “Then I suppose there’s no need for your men to hide. Is there?”

The other cops heard the challenge in his voice and stepped forward. John’s arm was grabbed by the cop beside him, nearly dragging him up.

“Now about that truck,” Foley smirked.

Barsad’s brow rose. “Ah, but wait. My men shouldn’t hide either, should they? It would only be fair.”

A simple hand gesture and the resistance men were severely outnumbered.

It happened fast. John barely had a chance to see the irony of worrying about Mickey when he himself was now in danger. The men opened fire without hesitation. John was able to take down only one gunman before pain shot through his abdomen, bringing him to his knees as the pressurized bullet ricocheted and settled in his stomach. He clutched the wound, teeth gritted against the burn. His vision blinked in and out, as he and a few other living cops were hauled into the back of the truck. Everything faded to black as the heavy doors closed, locking them in.

+

He woke up to the smell of sewer water and blood. Lots of blood. He blinked his eyes open to see the cop who’d tackled him getting his legs and arm bandaged by one of the mercenaries. Barsad was there with others, helping to patch up those that they knew would survive, no doubt for interrogations. The rest were carried off and tossed down into the torrent of rain runoff through the tunnels.

John was feeling better but he knew the bullet would rattle in his stomach for a while longer and he hadn’t completely healed, but the pain was still too intense for him to function properly. He felt searching hands around his waist and tried to fight them off but he couldn’t coordinate his limbs to do anything more than hug his stomach with a deathgrip.

Barsad frowned impatiently over him, ordering two others to pull on John’s wrists in Somali. He lifted John shirt and paused, his expression unreadable even as the others watched on in open wonder.

John’s eyes locked on Barsad’s knowing what was coming but too in pain to be afraid. Anything these men had in store for him would be a relief from the ache in his gut.

Barsad’s hands were back, searching, even tearing open the healing wound, making John scream out and try to shake them off but still they searched.

Barsad sat back on his heals. “Interesting,” he muttered. “He has no identifiable signs that he’s an android. His skin is even bruised, and yet…there is no blood at all in his wound.” He stuck his fingers into his stomach again, causing more pain. “Interesting.” He could feel John healing around his hand. He withdrew at long last and stood. “We take him to Bane. Leave the others. He’ll know what to do.”

The two other men lifted John to his feet, his head lolling on one man’s shoulder. He was dragged out of the cell behind Barsad, up so many flights of stairs, over bridges and under waterfalls, towards Bane’s lair.

+

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely Janejenajeny is in the process of beta-ing(?) this for me! YAAAAAAAY! 
> 
> [UPDATE: now successfully beta'd]
> 
> It's a long one, but so fun writing.
> 
> Enjoy!

+ 

 

John was in a daze when the men finally lowered him to his knees on the dirty concrete. The floor hummed from the rush of water flowing above and under it. He looked up, taking in his surroundings.

They were on a higher level, closer to the city’s surface, but it might as well have been miles underground.

His heartbeat lost its rhythm when his eyes focused on the scarred back of the man sitting at the makeshift desk beside a cot and a small fire. Compared to various corners and stairwells littered with cots, this hulking man’s private space looked almost cozy, with a canopy overhead and a waterfall for added seclusion.

John was a rabbit dropped into a bear’s den.

The gears in his stomach locked painfully. He _could_ run. He’d healed enough, but only enough to maybe scale the first two flights of stairs nearby before the pain would come roaring back and slow him down. Whatever happened in the next several minutes John would just have to endure, so he stayed where he’d been placed, breathing low, channeling all his energy into a speedier healing process.

“You’ve found me a dissenter willing to talk so soon?” Bane sat, dwarfing the chair, observing a 3-D hologram of apartment blueprints from one of the delivered tablets.

John kept his eyes on the ground, listening to Barsad mutter over Bane’s shoulder. “No, but you should see this. He’s an android.”

“Ah, the resistance is quartering androids. This isn’t a surprise. Bring me its control disk.” He held out his hand expectantly, still surveying the blueprints.

“This one is different. I’m not sure if he has one.”

Bane glanced at Barsad. “I see. How does its barcode read, then?”

“Bane,” he stressed in a quiet voice, “he doesn’t have one.”

At this, Bane’s hands stilled the projection. The pixels blinked and disappeared back into the tablet screen. He turned to Barsad and rose to his feet.

John refused to crane his neck up, to see just how tall Bane was in person. Staring at his boots and kneepads was enough. Even when the man had been sitting, he was no doubt much bigger than he seemed in the videos and pictures from John’s research.

“Where is your barcode?” Bane asked.

“I don’t have one.” It was truth enough.

Bane’s eyes were unreadable. “What are you called?”

When John didn’t answer, one of the mercenaries at his back jabbed the barrel of his rifle in his shoulder. “Answer him.”

“John Blake,” he said, raising his eyes, holding Bane’s cold stare. His wound was healed. Only a matter of time.

“What are you _called,_ John Blake,” Bane emphasized. “What is your model number?”

He frowned. “I don’t have a model number. I’m just… John Blake,” he repeated, confused. “Robin John Blake.”

Bane glanced at Barsad, taking the lieutenant’s scanner from his utility harness. The orange glow from the scanner’s light made John squint, but he was held still by the men behind him.

Orange turned to green; even John was surprised. Bane shoved the scanner back at Barsad, growling. “What trick is this, brother?” His hand snaked out and gripped John’s neck, the grill of his mask mere inches away as he examined the android’s face.

John panicked and tried to pull away but Bane’s grip on his neck only tightened. A second longer with him pressing into John’s throat and his rest setting would kick in. _Not good_.

He breathed a heavy sigh when Bane finally realized him, his eyes narrow when they shot to Barsad and the others. “This.. thing, this robot, has a heartbeat.”

The two mercenaries behind John took a nervous step back, but Barsad, undeterred and not looking to argue the matter any further, grabbed John’s arm and tore the sleeve over his wrist. His knife cut a deep, agonizing line from wrist to inner elbow.

John tried to free himself from the bruising grip. Barsad squeezed his arm and passed it to Bane to do the same. Not a drop of blood was seen.

Bane’s eyes softened at last, but not on John’s behalf.

“I see. What a marvelous little invention. Tell me John—who is your maker?”

John shook his head, his jaw clenched. His body was trying to repair itself again.

“Is that loyalty or feigned ignorance?” Bane wondered, Barsad watching at his side. “Are androids capable of either?”

With a terrible strength that John didn’t know a human could posses, Bane squeezed John’s wrist until the android could feel his softer joints crack. The empty catch that used to house his old disk crumbled under his skin, creating a nasty bruise. He couldn't breathe. He tried not to vocalize his pain, but it was growing increasingly difficult. When no chip released, Bane finally let go. “In the end, I suppose, it does not matter. Throw him in the cages with the other vermin.”

“Will he go to the fire?” asked the mercenary who dragged John to his feet.

“No, brother. This one is special and deserving of a more dignified end. Tonight, we’ll see if John Blake was worth the trouble of his makers. Reserve him for the Games.” He turned back to his desk, sealing John’s fate.

+

No android would ask for this, no android would even wish this on their most hated replacement model. Having one's android control disk destroyed was actually quite humane, considering the long, elaborate brutality of the Games.

John and the other androids were given thin arm and chest guards and kneepads over whatever clothing they’d worn when captured.

Overhead, the cheering and stomping from the crowds rumbled like thunder. An explosion shook the floor. The first batch of combatants no doubt leveled by whatever firepower the League had on the field.

He taped up his hands, surveying the holding area just under the stadium as he and the others waited their turn to die. John was perhaps one of few here who were in any shape to fight. He was also the smallest robot here; all their eyes were on him. He could almost hear them all plotting, zeroing in on John as the weakest and easiest to kill.

He wanted to talk to them, try and get them all to work _together,_ to escape. There were only two men watching this crowd of a dozen androids. If they would just—

A bulky shipyard android with half of his face missing nudged his shoulder, crowding his space. “You’re mine,” he threatened, voice filled with static. “Unless—”

“Unless we fucking get over this gladiator bullshit and take _them_ down,” he pointed his chin at Bane’s men. “Come on, man. We can do this.”

The android looked John up and down amused. “I have been the sole survivor of twenty-six games. Every android here will die the same, but you… I feel bad for you. The others will tear you apart just so they may perish with at least one deresolution on their hands, yours. But I can make things easier for you. I can crush your disk now; you won’t even have to face the others then.”

John took a step back, looking at the others who were all still staring at him and the other man. “No thanks,” he sighed, knowing he couldn’t win here. These robots had already given up trying to survive. “I’ll take my chances.”

To think—the only reason John had joined the resistance was in the hopes that he could save other androids, and yet he would be massacring a dozen in roughly two minutes. What would Mickey think of John if he could see him now?

+

Talia was no fan of the Games. She preferred the intimacy of watching Bane tear down a robot with his hands rather than watching the robots fight each other in front of so many cheering onlookers, letting the victor live another day. In her mind, they all should be killed, every single one.

Bane left his meeting with Talia early, in preparation.

The stadium was filled to capacity as always; proof that the League held Gotham’s favor. It wouldn’t be long until the last of the dissenters gave up their foolish cause and assimilated as well.

A new stadium would need to be built if the crowds continued to grow in such great numbers—and this time, it would be built by human hands, as it should have always been.

Gotham’s night sky was alight with fireworks. From his vantage high up in the League’s balcony over the stands, Bane could see the glittering lights of the city’s tallest towers.

"Are the second round of androids ready," he asked Barsad when he entered.

"John is in the blue pads," he informed.

“Excellent. Let the games begin,” he mused, handing the remote control over to Barsad after opening the field’s trap doors.

The crowd erupted in louder screams when the robots were released, each running to cower behind the shelters littering the grounds. He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself as his men watched and shouted around their box just below, but he caught himself searching for the little android in blue on the field.

Spotlights and two small model GDI drones kept the field in shadows, every once in a while catching an android moving here and there, for better cover away from each other.

 

John adjusted his eyes to see. He slipped the small knife he'd been given underground inside his boot, freeing his hands. He waited, laying out flat behind a boulder, watching the others dodge about, but he wasn’t concerned with the others. Not yet.

Both the drones and the spotlight caught one of the slower, older robots several minutes in, the drone firing off shot after shot until the robot was scrap metal.

The crowd went wild, chanting the drone’s model number in cheers.

It didn’t take long for the other drone to hover John’s way, flying low to the ground to search him out, but his missing barcode made it difficult to pinpoint just where John was. The crowd closest to him screamed and pointed, willing the drone to understand that John was scaling the rock as the second drone moved closer still.

He could hear the telltale whistle of the drone’s gun warming up, ready to fire. It turned in time for him to jump, grabbing its hind wing and pulling it off balance.

The shot fired, hitting the second drone. With a broken wing, it was knocked off course and crashed into the ground, digging a trench in its wake. The crowds booed their discontent as the dust cleared, only now just noticing that the android on the other drone’s back was missing.

John crouched and rolled to another hideout when the spotlight moved to another side of the field.

He was planning his next attack when the hairs on the back of his neck stood, like tiny cat whiskers sensing the air change, right before a chain looped around his neck and pulled him to the ground, the older android putting every ounce of strength she possessed into choking John out.

He had to further loop his neck in the chain to avoid the second android’s concrete block from crushing his chest. He reached up. He was blinded by the spotlight but he succeeded in breaking the android’s wrists and freeing himself from the chain. He jumped to his feet and tackled the robot to the ground just as the surviving drone fired off at her, killing the second android instead as he moved in its path, too intent on killing his competition to mind his own surroundings.

In spite of saving her from imminent death, the android still fought John, trying to get her bare metal hands around his neck. Her control chip dangled from the loose wiring in her broken wrist, but John couldn’t bring himself to kill her.

He didn’t have to. The drone shot her in the back as he and her tumbled on the ground.

John had no time to think about it. A larger android barreled forward, one arm missing, the other burnt and wielding a bat with a swing meant for hitting home runs. The robot didn’t seem too concerned about the drone following John like a black and orange LED cloud of death. John didn’t stop running, ducking under the robot’s swing and taking the bat with him as the drone littered bullets into the other's already singed chest. He fell to the ground in a heap of metal.

Another android made her way over, terrified but determined to live longer than John with only a pair of scissors.

The crowds cheered once more and watched, enrapt, as John fought for his life yet again. He crushed her wrist with his bat. Her power source died quickly. Finding cover was a little easier now that more of the androids were turning on each other. He could hear the shipyard robot’s growl under the wave of cheers nearby. John focused on the drone.

 

When Bane saw John take out the first drone, he was on the edge of his seat. He was standing now, his breath puffing out little spots on the glass through the grill in his mask, but he didn’t notice.

Bane had never seen anything like this. No android had ever even thought to take on the drones, let alone so many others. There was an android John had yet to face who had been victorious for so many of the previous games, but even that one waited in the protection of the shelters while the herds thinned themselves. John on the other hand took on every robot that crossed his path, dishing out swift kills that made Bane feel…

He hadn’t expected such skill and power to radiate out of the little android. He'd wanted to see the others tear John apart and litter the field with his insides.

This was so much better. He watch John move through the shadows, take on others much larger than he was, as if… as if he were a prodigy of Ra’s al Ghul. 

He even brought down the second drone with little trouble, looking neither panicked nor overwhelmed by the task as the mega screens across the stands broadcasted him in action.

Bane could sense Barsad standing to the side behind him.

“There are only three left. Should we put them up against the tanks,” the man asked.

“No.” Bane held out his palm for Barsad to give him the remote control. “This will be over soon enough.”

Barsad stepped up beside Bane, sharing his interest in watching John fight. His face carried his usual cool, reserved expression, but Bane caught the lieutenant's hands twitching in his peripheral view every time John landed or ducked a blow, as if he were mentally coaching John to move this way and that.

“When he defeats the other,” Bane said over the roar of the crowds chanting for another android's deresolution. He flipped down the switches on the remote, “bring him to me.”

 

The spotlight flashed red right before all the shelters lowered back into the ground, leaving no cover for John and the shipyard android, the only two left on the field.

He stood on the far side, chest heaving like an angry bull, and descended on John like a semi-trailer truck. The crowd cheered as he covered more and more ground. John didn't move until the robot aimed to strike, his powerful arm raised in a high arch, fists clenched.

John used that momentum and ducked under his swing, his own fist lashing out. He threw every bit of strength he had into the punch, feeling both the android’s ribs shatter and his knuckles crack when exposed iron met John’s skin-covered titanium. In the same motion he twisted, his other fist crashing into the back of the robot’s neck. John spun, catching him and broke his neck before the android’s body reached the ground.

The crowd went wild, the spotlight shining brightly over their champion.

+

John’s hands were cuffed behind him for the lonely ride back down into the sewers.

It was much busier than he remembered, more of a mix of men in red bandannas and other, more rough looking, English-speaking men who leered and whistled at him as he passed. They were tossing around the android parts and debris brought back from the stadium, sorting into piles what would burn and what could be sold as scrap.

“That’s not fair,” one shouted from his spot near the head pile. “How come we don’t get any gifts?”

Several men muttered in agreement, taking notice as a few others blocked the stairwell.

Three of the men escorting John, he realized, didn’t understand English. The other two did, but weren’t able to tell the men surrounding them that John wasn’t a human, as the Blackgate men didn’t understand French.

Bane’s men puffed out their chests, trying to regain control. John was the only one who saw the man who spoke before running towards them with his machete.

All hell broke loose. Bane’s men were overtaken by the mob. John charged headfirst into the only available gap he saw as hands reached for him. He bounded up the stairs, shouldering a man off the top step, but there were too many.

He backflipped with his legs wrapped around the neck of the closest man, sending him flying into the group behind them before jumping up on the railing of the bridge. But he could only take so many of them down with his hands bound.

Arms snaked out of nowhere around his waist and slammed him to the concrete.

He bit and was punched back, kicked and was dragged onto his stomach.

A hail of gunfire sounded from the top landing. Barsad and his squad cut down a large group of Blackgate conscripts with pressurized pistols and assault rifles as Bane walked, undeterred by his mercenaries’ shooting, into the bulk of the fray, crushing and killing any man who stumbled into his path.

The shooting stopped when Bane pulled John up by the scruff like a kitten. The surviving men around them cowered back and tried to flee but members of the League blocked every stairwell and bridge, their guns aimed, ready for their orders.

Bane surveyed his conscripts. One word and he could have them all killed; every man here knew this as well.

“Collect the bodies of your fallen comrades, men of Blackgate. When you are finished clearing the space,” he thought it over, glancing at Barsad, “When you are finished you may carry on with your work.  _But_ ,” he growled, as the men relaxed around him, “If this happens again…” He didn’t need to say more; it was understood. The men rushed at once to do as instructed.

When they reached Bane’s lair, John was dumped on his knees in front of him. Bane was far less distracted this time around. He gestured to Barsad to uncuff John’s wrists.

One mercenary at his back pushed him forward onto all fours with his boot, his fingers twisted in John’s hair to keep him bowed.

The android winced when, rather than hurt John, Bane went for the mercenary instead, twisting the man’s wrist until it snapped, a clear message not to touch his new specimen.

Bane reached for John, but paused when the android’s body spasmed suddenly. John said not a word. When it happened again, Bane took his face in hand examining him like a bug.

“Hiccups?” It happened again. Bane was pleasantly surprised.

“I shot him in the gut, and he was attacked by the others.” Barsad shrugged. “Perhaps he is damaged.”

Bane could feel John swallow under his hand. “What a peculiar flaw.”

John hiccupped once more, the bullet rising up his throat in degrees, shaken free from the gears it had been wedged between in his stomach during the skirmish. He tucked it under his tongue, knowing it would come in handy sooner or later. He didn’t have the leverage yet to aim for anyone with Bane’s massive hand moving his head this way and that, likely searching for John’s android chip again.

John frowned angrily. Bane didn’t have to go through so much trouble; it didn’t matter at this point whether he could find the chip and destroy it or not. With Bane’s grip, simply pulling off John’s head would kill him all the same.

“So,” Bane said, “We have a skilled fighter in our midst. Well done,” he complimented.

“What happens now?” John stared at the man’s boots.

“Well John Blake, you have a choice: either I will break you, or my men will. It is yours to decide.”

He glanced around at the rest of the red bandanas. Their control and methods of torture were perhaps much better than the conscripts, but these men all knew what John was; he wasn’t sure what the consensus of action would be with men who hated his kind, versus those hungry clueless vultures upstairs.

But then again, Bane… There were no other men like him _anywhere_ , and John was sure the world was grateful for that. He would take his time, pulling John apart piece by piece, wire by wire until his systems crashed from so many failed repairs, and then perhaps, he would still throw John into the fire like the others. The image of the mercenaries playing with the robot’s severed arms in the streets behind the GDI drone blipped to the top of his hard drive, a painful memory still.

He envied her now. His voice wavered with rising panic. “That doesn’t sound like much of a choice.”

Bane simply blinked and turned his back.

“Wait,” John quickly amended as the men behind him moved to carry him out. He swallowed and pointed his chin at Bane when the man looked his way.

His brow rose, eyeing John. “A wise decision, John Blake.” He gripped the android’s hair, pulling until the back of John’s legs hit the cot. He pushed him to sit. And John did, positively tense as he watched Bane send the others off. “Now John, let’s just hope that for your sake you made the right choice.”

+

Bane removed John’s coat and searched it before tossing it into the torrent of water below them.

A sigh hissed through his mask. “How old are you, John?”

“Three years.” He kept his eyes on the ground as Bane tilted his head for a better look at his new captive.

“And who is your maker?”

“Daggett Industries, the android division.” At first, he figured that Bane was looking for his chip again, but after a minute of his spine tingling from the fingers running through his hair, John was confused.

Bane’s thumbs brushed over his eyebrows. John shivered when he touched his ears.

“Very strange,” Bane muttered to himself. “Surprisingly soft.”

He was inspecting John, looking for seams in his skin. The android dared a peek at his face. Bane looked as if he’d never seen a robot before, at least not up close.

He hadn’t. Bane never bothered to touch the others beyond killing them, never cared to find out how completely human one could feel, how fragile. John was… well, Bane was man enough to admit that John was marvelous. His lips were soft, his small brown eyes were framed in long, delicate lashes. That such inventions even had eyelashes—it was amusing, to say the least.

John would have been a lovely young man if he were human. What a shame. However, this android was pretty enough. Small, curiously small, and quite prone to fidgeting, Bane noticed. He ran his fingertips down the side on John’s neck and the android shivered again.

He turned John’s head to the side and noticed the wide scar on the back of his neck. He traced that as well with his fingertips, fascinated. He’d seen John heal several times now, and yet, here was a mark, a single imperfection. He lifted John’s shirt up past his chest to see whether or not the android was completely anatomically correct. John’s form was nice, cut lean like the skilled fighter he was, spine straight, chest expanding with every breath.

John nearly broke two of his teeth as he bit down on the bullet to keep himself still. Bane’s wide hand pressed him on his back, his eyes soaking in John’s bared skin. He gripped the blankets under his hands, wishing that Bane would kill him already. This was torture. This was—

He nearly moaned aloud when Bane brushed one of his taunt nipples in passing. Nothing about the man’s inspection seemed sexual in nature, but John’s body didn’t know how to differentiate, didn’t know when to stop doing the opposite of what John needed.

Bane touched his bellybutton. He shivered again and could feel that old, familiar heat return to the pit of his stomach. The need to be taken became overwhelming when Bane pulled back the hem of his pants to see where the dusting of hair beneath his navel led to.

He blushed, breathing deeply, trying to get his body to cooperate. He watched Bane pick up one of his hands, folding it and uncurling his fingers to feel the bones underneath and studied his fingernails.

His body finally snapped out of its haze when Bane curiously bent back his pinky until it broke. John did moan, in pain this time, as Bane felt the digit repair itself in his hand.

John pulled his legs up, shifting closer to Bane. His free hand felt up the side of his boot until he could slip the knife out.

Bane saw nothing, still thoroughly distracted by the skin under his hands.

John knew without a doubt that he couldn't kill Bane, so he opted for a quick and easy trick and hoped that it wouldn’t backfire. He tucked the knife close to his arm, hiding it, and looked pointedly behind Bane’s back.

Bane turned around, surprised that he’d let someone sneak up on him, but there was no one there. He growled when sharp metal pressed against his throat, enraged that the android would even have the nerve to try to overpower him.

John had the tip of the blade firmly pressed, confident that any sudden movement from Bane would mean an instant bleeding out.

Bane’s voice dripped with venom. “There is no greater mistake that you can ever make, John.”

He swallowed. “I have to try.”

“I hope you have a plan B, when this one fails.”

“You’ll be the first to know.”

He hit the ground running, bounding up the steps and blindsiding several mercenaries on the floor above. He struck with fury, his counterattacks seemingly telepathic. One man spun on him with his gun drawn. John spit the bullet out of his mouth with as much force as he could muster, pleased when it hit the man’s eye, taking him down.

He cleared the bridge, ducking and weaving the bullets flying past his head, a hoard for Bane’s men hot on his trail. He was so close, could hear the trains rumbling through the tunnels.

The gate closed just as he was about to cross the last bridge. Barsad tackling his to ground, raining in enough blows that John knew he was going to die right here on the spot.

To his dismay, Barsad and another pulled him up but his wrists and ankles and carried him back to Bane.

+

The man hadn't even botherd to chase him, knowing he'd be caught. John was dropped in a heap. Bane stomped forward. His boot connected with John’s healing ribs only once, but it was enough to keep John down.

Bane paced, anger rippling through his every muscle, his temper barely held in check. “You don’t care for my hospitality?” he said at last.

John huffed out a short, pained laughed before he could control it. How was any of this hospitable?

Bane lashed out, his hand wrapping around John neck and cutting off his air. “Do you wish to stay with my brothers instead?”

“No.” John shook his head quickly, the snarl in Bane’s voice making him tremble. “No.”

Bane’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at the others watching. “Leave us.”

John didn’t have a chance to react; Bane had him on the cot on his back in the blink of an eye. Too fast for a man his size. John struggled in vain to slip out underneath him but he was trapped under Bane’s weight.

He froze when his captor raised his fist, threatening and terrifying.

John swallowed again. Bane tracked the movement, his brow creasing.

He lowered his hand slowly, carefully petting John’s face and neck—an action that didn’t fit. His hand was soft but his eyes were still hard and cold as ice. “You are very cleverly designed, but all androids are the same when it comes to their disks. You see, John, androids have ticks just as humans do. It’s always some minute behavior associated with disk's placement. Perhaps it sends out a spike in its energy, causing the behavioral response. Either way, if an android's fingers twitch, chances are, their control disk is in their wrist.”

Without warning he pried John’s mouth open painfully wide. “I’ve never seen a robot swallow before unless they were pretending to eat, which isn’t the case for you. No, you swallow as if you’re nervous, but that’s can't be it either, can it,” he teased, violently pulling John up by his teeth to get him seated in better light.

John fought back, grabbing one of Bane’s wrists tightly, aiming to strike him in the gut but surrendered when Bane’s hands threatened to rip off his jaw.

Bane didn’t stop pulling on his jaw until John let go of him, his hands up high where Bane could see. “Good boy.”

John snapped his mouth shut the second Bane’s hands moved away and refused to let him back in. He was shook, slapped, and choked, but if he could keep Bane away from his chip, it hardly mattered.

He didn’t dare hit the man back, but his nails drew blood from the top of Bane’s hands.

His captor growled viciously, and not for the first time, John was convinced that Bane was more animal than man. It was then that John realized the only upper hand he’d gained against Bane was because the man had willed it. He was playing with John—or had been, until John bit his finger.

Bane struck him lightning quick with the force of an anvil. John slumped back onto the cot in a daze, his systems hardly able to keep him lucid as he was flipped onto his stomach. Bane left the cot only for a moment; John could hear metal clatter on the ground. He was still trying to regain his bearings when his shirt was pushed up and his pants and boxer-briefs shoved down to his knees.

Bane pressed his knee into the small of John’s back. The android turned his head in time to see the long metal rod Bane had used to stoke the fire earlier come down across his bare ass almost too fast for him to comprehend it.

His scream was delayed and loud. He struggled. Bane only whipped him again, harder, pulling screams from the pit of John’s soul.

He nearly tore the bedding off in his fist as he struggled to get away, but his hands were caught and held tight in Bane’s free hand.

He whipped John down to his thighs, his skin turning red even though no blood ran through his veins. It only angered Bane more. He hit harder, reveling in android’s screams.

Bane lifted the rod again but paused when John’s body language changed. It was brief; if he weren’t paying attention, he would have missed it. He put down the rod and hit John with his hand instead.

John writhed in pain but bucked back all the same. He let go of John’s hands and dug his fingers tight over the back of his neck to keep him still.

He was startled nearly out of his rage when he laid a warm hand over John’s bruised ass and the android moaned into the blanket, arching back. Bane pulled his hand away as if he’d touched a burning coal.

For years, he’d tortured more men than he could care to keep track of. Not once did any react like this. It was unnerving. He  _knew_  what it meant, but… He rubbed his hand over John’s ass, listening as the robot nearly sobbed, trying to get away and get more of that soothing touch. Bane traced the outlines of several welts forming down to his inner thigh where John’s skin was even softer—

And wet. John shivered violently when Bane dipped his fingers further back. His hand withdrew, covered in so much of the slickness.

John forgot how to struggle, completely sure that his system was fried beyond saving when two of Bane’s massive fingers slipped past his entrance all the way to the knuckle, his body taking him in greedily, famished for an even more, fuller stretch. He turned his blushing face towards his captor and moaned when he saw Bane tug on his own arousal, his erection nearly bursting through his cargo pants.

It wasn’t the first time Bane had felt his body react in this way, but it had never been this prominent, his lust always a nonissue, a nuisance. But right now, he wanted, _needed_ to claim the body under his knee. John bucked back, squeezing around Bane's fingers, trying to persuade him to do far more than touch. John was so pretty, so proud, even for a robot moaning in pleasure, the lubrication so thick it ran down his legs.

None of this was normal; even Bane knew that androids didn't have these sort of behavioral traits. John was a combatant, a dissenter, and  _robot_ , and yet… here he was, close to begging for Bane to take him, all because of Bane’s touch.

He withdrew his other hand from John’s neck and traced it down the length of his back under his shirt, petting, near worshipping the details, all the hardwork, all the _art_ , that had to go into creating something so—

“Bane,” John hissed out.

“Yes,” he whispered back, rubbing circles over the dimples in his lower back.

“Keep touching me, and I will gut you the second I get the chance,” John gritted out through clenched teeth, trying to stave off his orgasm.

Bane froze. “What did you say?”

John didn’t care if that was a warning or not. He was so goddamn close to screaming Bane's name, and Bane’s fingers were only a breath away from touching that mechanical spot inside him that guaranteed a completely sound recharging. “I said… _fuck off_.”

Bane snarled, grabbing the rod again. He resumed his merciless blows down John’s ass. _Twice_ now, he’d been distracted by this pest, but no more. John would learn respect even if he had to whip him through the night. He would break him. It was the only thing John deserved.

The pain was tenfold. John tried his best to get away but Bane was unrelenting. Why wouldn’t he just kill John? Wasn’t that enough?

“Bane,” he pleaded, gripping the sheets.

“You cry out for me so sweetly, and with the same tongue that you mock me. What a shame; I always thought androids were designed to be intelligent. You, I fear, are full of flaws, John.”

“Please!”

Bane pitied him none.

“Please stop,” he choked, surprised when Bane at last stilled his hand.

He tossed the rod on to the floor and removed his knee, shoving John to the floor. His eyes were tiny orbs of rage. His chest heaved deeply, as he watched John’s shaking hands right his clothes.

He pulled John back onto the cot by his throat, daring John to fight him again, but the android only trembled in pain and watched Bane with wide, stunned eyes. He flinched under Bane when he raised his hand, John’s backside and thighs lighting up in renewed pain.

“Much better. You’re learning,” Bane praised, stroking John’s lips and cheek, eyeing his captive with the fondness of a true sadist. He knew John wouldn't test him again so soon.

John couldn’t stop himself from shivering under Bane’s gentle touch, every nerve in his body on fire. All he wanted was for this man’s hands to be off of him. There was no use struggling or hiding his chip if it would only prolong this. Handing it over would make everything in John’s world that much more difficult, impossible—if Bane even let him live, that was—but for now he just wanted to stop his body from responding under Bane’s hands.

He swallowed again and lifted his tongue for Bane to see.

The corners of Bane’s eyes crinkled, smiling behind his mask. John wanted to chomp on his fingers when they dug into his mouth, to keep fighting, but he held still, his eyes on the canopy overhead until the disk slipped free.

John had only had his control disk taken once, the time he refused to give Daggett sex after watching the man beat Mickey. It felt like his soul had been removed, and maybe that was exactly what this was for androids—his soul being taken away.

He closed his eyes as Bane handled the small, fragile chip, and tried to think of some happy, peaceful memory to calm him while he waited for his power source to die. Any second, his disk would be dust in Bane’s hand.

He waited, waited, but it didn’t happen. He glanced up in time to see Bane carefully slip the disk into a thin, inch long plastic case. The disk glowed from white to pale green as the case was tucked securely into a pocket in Bane’s wrist brace.

John wasn’t sure if this should have relieved him or not. He watched Bane turn back to him, completely in control now.

“If you leave the confines of this space, if you disobey me,” he traced his fingers over his brace, “I will kill you. Understand.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an order. John nodded warily.

“Good. Now,” he strutted over, shoving John back onto the cot, “Strip.”

+

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F I N A L L Y.
> 
> So sorry for that cliffhanger.

**+**

A man stood guard in the distance, holding a machine gun lazily in his hands, hardly paying Bane and his captive any mind.

“You may start with your boots,” John was instructed.

“This exercise should help to improve your understanding of your purpose here. You live only because I allow it. When you die, it should be worth it.” Bane smiled when John didn’t argue.

He watched Bane toss his boots into the waterfall with anger racing through his wiring. He wanted to tackle Bane off the landing after them, but then he would never get his chip back.

“That,” Bane pointed, “was for your earlier trick.” He held out his hand, still waiting.

John hesitated, not ready to see all of his clothes destroyed. “I guess it’s not everyday that someone surprises you, huh?” Bane’s rumbling growl was all the pushing he needed to hand over his sweater.

Bane stared back as if contemplating the rod again. “I have gathered plenty from the other resisters on Gordon’s whereabouts and his plans, so you need not feel guilty about betraying your precious commander. What I want to know more about now is you. And what better place to learn than here?” He spread his arms out at the area surrounding their little corner.

At John’s frown, he explained. “These tunnels first served as our base for planning and executing Gotham’s siege. This is also where I first defeated Bruce Wayne and took charge of his armory. Now, most of the androids flee down here for shelter, for safety. They think they have only to fear the drones flying above the streets, but my men all know these tunnels better perhaps than they know one another.”

“So you drive the androids underground and hunt them,” John said, voice low as he watched Bane idly handled his sweater. The man paced near the fire like a tiger stalking in a cage.

“Precisely. Some are dissembled for their parts, others, like you, go to the Games.”

“Then why are you keeping me? Your plan seems to be working just fine. Why am I here?”

Bane blinked. “I find you amusing.”

“Lucky me,” he muttered dryly.

Bane lashed out quicker than a snake, nearly knocking him to the floor.

John massaged his jaw, fighting the urge to hit back.

“I’m not keeping you alive for your sense of humor, John. Understand? Good. You see, the more information I gather from you the better adept my men will be at locating and destroying the last of Gotham’s androids.”

“But why are you after them?”

“For many reasons. The most important being that they were crutches, slaves, used in exchange for human labor. As a result, Gotham’s people grew lazy and dependent, or in the case of the working class, these robots replaced them, leaving them with scarce means of acquiring a stable income to support themselves and their families. Removing you from the equation has allowed the people to become self-sufficient again.”

“You’re making it sound like this is our fault. No one ever asked us what we wanted.”

“Why would they?”

John paused. He had to admit, that was a good question. No matter how advanced, he was still, at his core, just a machine.

Bane studied him for a long time. “Do you have feelings, John?” When he didn’t answer, Bane’s eyes darkened. “What a very human trait,” he mused. “What a lovely little abomination. Are there any others like you?”

John took a deep breath. “No.”

“I see.”

John hated how that sounded, almost as much as pulling off more clothes. He took his time and made an effort not to panic under Bane’s gaze.

“Do you know what would happen if your control disk were damaged?”

John eyed him with suspicion. He quickly tried to calculate the risks of being honest. He had no idea what disks could survive, all he knew was that they were unfairly fragile. Foremost on John’s mind, however, was whether Bane knew, and if not, could John get away with lying.

But his silence was all Bane needed. He shredded the sweater to ribbons. “Disks are such fascinating things, aren’t they?” Bane took the time to run his hands over John’s t-shirt when that too was handed over. “Tell me John, what exactly happens when an android doesn’t have its disk?”

John paused for too long again, which meant losing his socks. “Depends on the model, I guess. Are you going to use this against me, or just the other androids,” he asked carefully, knowing in his mind that this question was useless. Bane was already destroying his clothes as punishment; disk manipulation was inevitable at this point.

“That depends as well,” he answered politely.

John wondered if Bane knew just how scary he was. “I can’t make major repairs now. Smaller ones take a much longer time.” Which would be excellent for torture. He could tell that Bane was already hard at work imagining the possibilities.

“And if the disk is,” Bane shrugged, “submerged in water or melted? Scratched?”

It hit John suddenly that it was impossible to recharge down here with so many layers of concrete separating him from sunlight. In a matter of days, maybe less, considering how much energy he’d already expelled since his capture, he’d be no better than a blowup doll if he couldn’t make it to the surface in time. John shook his head at the ground, entirely helpless. “I don’t know.”

His answer seemed to be enough for Bane at least. He neatly folded John’s shirt and placed it on his worktable.

“We could always perform a few tests,” Bane offered.

John felt like his insides were rusting over when Bane took the chip out of his wrist brace and stood near the fire, hand extended over the flames.

He paused when John shot to his feet. “What is it, John? You don’t appreciate my sense of humor?” He dangled the plastic case when John inched forward.

John tried to play it cool. “At least now we have something in common. Right?” He was shaking, terrified that Bane would still harm his chip. It made no sense at all that his life should be held so precariously between another’s thumb and index. He sat down on the cot with relief when Bane stepped back, out of the fire’s reach. 

Bane was still chuckling when he walked to his desk and withdrew a small device from one of the crates. It was a sleek and shiny black thumb-sized drive. The disk slipped into its slot easily.

John’s vision blurred for a few seconds. A green light on the drive blinked until Bane plugged it into his tablet. He turned back to the android.

 

_[”Testing communication functions for prototype 1003.]_

John didn’t need to see what was happening. Hearing his life play out on Bane’s tablet was nightmare enough.

_[ _"Hello, 1003.”__

_“Hello.”_

_“Can you tell me your name and how old you are?”_

_“My name is Robin John Blake. I am two hours, eight minutes, and 19 seconds old.”_

_“Very good, John. I’m going to test all of your functions before you go home to your owner. Are you happy to go home with Mr. Daggett, John? Nod your head when you answer.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Perfect.”]_

 

He imagined the bizarre feeling that washed over him must have been akin to human depression, or perhaps an illness. He stared at his knees, trying to keep calm.

_[Mickey, why are you laughing?”_

_“Because, yesterday when Daggett sent me back for my upgrade, I realized that the technician’s dick is way bigger than daddy’s.”_

_“That’s not funny. You’ll get us in trouble.”_

_“Oh poor John, you have no idea how much…better and brighter I feel after getting such a great recharging. Even his intern’s cock was good.”_

_“But—You… How good?”_

_“Like a 162% recharge, compared to Daggett’s 77%. I feel like I could run a marathon around the world now.”_

_“Wow… Mickey, do you think he will ever make me have sex with someone else?”_

_“Of course not. You’re his favorite. That’s why the tech uses a vibrator on you. More than that and our darling creator is dead.”_

_“You sound more human when you talk now. I like it.”_

_“You will too, once you get your upgrade in a couple days.”_

_“What’s it like? Being with other humans?”_

_“Well, for you, Daggett’s the sun and the moon, but once you’ve been with decent, good-sized humans, sex with Daggett becomes just…terrible. Hey, can I tell you secret? Yeah? Stryver’s is even smaller than Daggett’s.”]_

 

Bane paced the floor still, focused on the tablet in his hand. He skipped the film ahead in several places, brow creased, expression unreadable, but John knew why. Bane was too smart not to see what John was by now.

He buried his head in his hands as Bane watched Mickey get beaten while John was dragged off by two of Daggett’s business partners. He could remember all of it. Every moan, every craving, all the taunts, every night sleeping in Daggett’s bed, waiting by the door for him to return from his board meetings and late night parties downstairs, perfectly programmed, perfectly tamed.

Then, crystal clear, the Batman's and Lucius Fox’s voices drifted over the noise of the rushing waterfall. The tablet screen was dark but the voices were telling enough.

_[“You can fix him?”_

_“Of course I can, but the trick, my friend, will be if I can actually make him better, to fit your purposes.”_

_“That isn’t all. Can you give him a life?”_

_“How much do you know about androids, Mr. Wayne?”]_

 

John didn’t bother to look up when Bane hummed, intrigued by what he saw when the imagine came back.

_[“They’re going to celebrate his death with… more android killing. That’s the only thing that isn’t encrypted on their end. All their websites and private information are locked behind walls and I don’t even know what languages these are—”_

_“Command your mind to translate them, John. Does that help?”_

_“It does, yes. I can decipher this now. All of it.”_

_“You’ve already decrypted it as well? Incredible. Go on, what else is there?”]_

 

Bane decided that he'd seen enough. He walked back to his desk to write several notes. “I gave you instructions. Stopping isn’t an option, John,” he warned, turing back to his captive. He caught the jeans angrily thrown his way reflexively. He took his time to fold them neatly on the table. John eyed his small pile with longing, sensing already that he wouldn’t get his clothes back any time soon. “I see we still have to work on your temper.”

John scrambled back against the wall of crates when Bane took a threatening step forward. The metal poker for the fire was still lying on the ground a few feet away from the cot.

They were both frozen for a momentary impasse. Bane’s hand twitched minutely, he glanced at the rod. John’s eyes flickered to the drive, still housing his chip, on the table.

Bane tilted his head, taunting John to defy him. John couldn’t help but take the bait. He was rattled by Bane’s knowledge of his past and unwilling to endure more pain if he could help it.

He didn’t move where Bane expected. The man rushed forward, but John pushed himself to the ground kicking the rod off the landing and rolled to the side of Bane’s reach. He got to his feet, only a foot away from the desk, but Bane was still surprisingly fast. He caught John around the waist and got kneed in the groin and a metal fist to the side on his mask.

The man standing guard near the bridge watched but didn't move from his post.

Bane quickly recovered, trapping John in a headlock. The android easily slipped out of his hold, ducking and deflecting his blows.

He knew that even with his training, he was barely a match for titanium bones. His analgesic only numbed but so much. John hit with hard, fast kicks and punches, trying to wear Bane down.

But not kill. It surprised Bane enough to get another knee in his groin when he grabbed John again. Most people—human or not—if in a position to potentially win a hand-to-hand fight with Bane would simply go for attacks that killed, but John… John only wanted to get the man down long enough to grab his chip and run off. How very strange.

Bane, however, was not so courteous. He saw an opening and took it. He couldn’t break John's arm at this particular angle, but his soft joints were easy pickings. And the pain of having his elbow destroyed was enough to bring John to his knees. He screamed like a man on fire and curled in on himself for protection, but Bane didn’t attack him any further.

He stood over John, watching him writhe in pain. “Was that as fulfilling as you’d hoped?” His labored breaths came out in a static hiss through his mask, his eyes tight with his own pain. “Did you think I would show you leniency simply because you are unable to repair?” He walked over to the tablet and disconnected the drive. “I am flattered by your faith, yes, but you should be more mindful of the consequences of such a mistake.”

It took John far too long to realize that Bane was sitting on the floor and pulling him onto his back. Bane gingerly propped John’s head on his lap. John cracked his eyes open and saw Bane take the disk out.

He held it up where John could see. “You should count your rarity as a blessing. Without that, this,” he glanced at the glowing white chip, “would be dust in my hand.”

John couldn’t help but part his lips when Bane touched his mouth. He was in too much pain to process what was happening until the disk slipped into place under his tongue. John could feel Bane’s fingers in his hair and on his forehead through the worst of the healing. He stared up at Bane with pure disbelief, but said nothing, knowing this mercy was temporary. Allowing him to heal was only practical, but it was a surprising gesture, nonetheless.

Healing was never an instantaneous process. It took time, time Bane barely allowed. The second John’s whimpering stopped his chip was taken out. His head hit the floor with a thud when Bane rose to his feet.

Bane secured the disk in his brace as he walked to the edge of the landing and looked down the waterway, lamenting his lost fire poker. He gathered a loose chain from a low hanging pipe near the canopy.

John was dropped back onto the cot. He held his arm close to his chest as Bane locked the chain's shackle around his ankle. 

The chain rattled when John folded his legs close to his chest, his back pressed to the crates, trying to get as much space between him and Bane as possible. 

Bane reached for him. John tensed. A dozen defense tactics ran through his mind, but he couldn’t risk it, not again, not with his ankle chained. His previous escape plans were rash. He needed a more solid, workable strategy if he was going to get out.

With Bane looming over him, his hands near the band of John's underwear, John couldn’t think of a better situation for why free will was terrible for an android. He’d gotten greedy, he realized now, with the minimal power he’d had aboveground. He could go anywhere, do anything, be anybody he wanted, yet here he was, right back at square one, as if he were a prototype again. The only difference was that he knew he had choices this time around, choices that were robbed from him the moment he was brought to Bane. It finally made sense why Mickey wouldn’t accept John’s help—the risk of something like this happening, of getting hurt, was too severe. 

John wished he’d asked Fox to show him how to access the reset code in his hard drive. And in his mind, he knew how simple it would be to just let Bane take away his last barrier and let the man see just how wet he'd made John every time he was forced into submission. He could still open his legs, invite his captor in and get a decent recharge for his effort, but… that was the old John. The only reason he could think of now that would make wrapping his legs around Bane’s neck any easier was that he could probably kill the man like that—and get gunned down by about a hundred armed men right after.

In the end, John lifted his hips and let Bane strip him, because he wanted to live and no matter what happened, he would find a way out—eventually.

That hope withered the second Bane took off his belt and looped it in his hand.

“I have been far too lenient in your taming, John. And what a shame.” Bane took the chain in his other hand and used it to pull John forward. “You seem as if you were once a very obedient little robot.” 

“No.” His heart stopped, stomach gears locked with dread. How could John possibly think that he’d be safer by removing one means of torture when Bane had several spares? “Bane, please, not that. If you break me—”

“It will be entirely your fault.” He soon had the android pinned under his bulk. John was weaker, easier to subdue this time, he noticed. “You should use your strength more scarcely in the future.” His belt came down hard on the back of John’s already bruised thighs. Bane paused for a moment to savor John’s pleading sobs. “I will say again, though, that you are a talented fighter. But you should never hold back when your life is on the line. You leave yourself at the mercy of your adversary when you do that.”

John wasn’t bucking back this time. Bane didn’t doubt that he was truly suffering, but… Bane himself was very much hard again with all of John’s skin on display. The android’s sobs rang in his ears. He could feel John’s strength ebbing away under his knee. His tears wet the quilt under his face—

 _Tears_. John was… Bane let him go, but John didn’t move very far. He curled up again, clutching the quilt until he too realized that he was crying.

It was so entirely new to John that it scared him. His hands moved to his face, his eyes blurry, and it wouldn’t stop. His body shook with the force of his sobs, so overwhelmed, and confused, so... human.

Bane glanced down at his own hands, muttering to John. “What has happened to you?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, cowering against the crates, Bane’s pillow clutched protectively to his chest. “Please don’t…”

The belt clattered to the floor, dropped like it was covered in poison. Bane stood at a loss, unsure. Robots didn’t do this. At least, none that he had ever seen and he’d seen hundreds, he knew. They didn’t bleed, they didn’t feel, they didn’t… they didn’t plead when you beat them, their bodies didn’t shiver with pleasure when you touched them, and they didn’t cry. Yet, in spite of that, here was John, weeping himself to exhaustion, on top of every other surprise he’d given Bane tonight. He was floored. 

At long last, John gained enough control to stop crying. He watched Bane from behind the pillow, wide-eyed, and so very young. Fragile.

“Has this happened before,” Bane asked.

John shook his head, feeling dazed and thirsty now that he could feel that his water reserve was empty. “I didn’t know that I could.”

Bane moved closer.

John panicked. “I’m cold,” he blurted. It was a lie, but it made Bane pause. It would become true soon enough anyways, if he got too cold for his systems to function properly. Regulating his temperature would burn out his battery even faster, and then he would have no chance against Bane at all.

Bane could care less, but he was struck for a moment by how small John looked curled up and cornered with tears in his eyelashes—like Talia, he remembered, when he’d found her hidden behind her bed when the men in the Pit attacked her mother. What would Talia think of John? He geared his thoughts in a more practical, safe direction. “The decryptions you performed for Mr. Fox—”

“I can’t, anymore, without my disk,” he lied, all the while frantically sending an emergency email to Fox telling him what was happening. He hacked into the man’s files with record speed, forging a travel pass to get him out of Gotham, to safety, anywhere. He only hoped Fox would see it in time, and held his breath when Bane sat beside him on the cot.

“Your sensitivity to pain,” he spoke. “Why do you have that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You feel, as well.” Bane frowned. “Androids have no need for such senses. But you...obviously do.”

He said nothing, spine tingling from Bane’s proximity and the deepening rumble of the man's voice.

“And,” Bane, to John’s surprise, was almost shy, quiet when he asked, “How often must you recharge?”

John glanced over nervously. Bane was watching him, hunger burning in his gaze, his hand unconsciously holding the fingers he’d put inside John’s body before. Just the memory sent another annoying tingle up his spine. He _was_ feeling awfully tired without his control disk, even with his battery still at half percent. Recharging would be… he squeezed his eyes shut. His unbelievable thinking had to be due to injury and overstress to even allow the thought to flourish.

Bane shifted closer into the android’s personal space. Reaching out again he brushed John’s chained ankle. “You require aftercare as well for your discipline."

John’s voice shook. “Are you giving me a choice?”

Whatever the small war being fought in Bane’s mind, it only took him a moment to decide. “No. Once you’ve learned to obey, then perhaps. Unfortunately, you have done nothing so far to warrant much sympathy from me.” It was a lie, but all other thoughts would have to wait. “You belong to me. You do as I say, and as reward I will allow you your disk for a time to repair,” he explained, taking away the pillow.

He pressed John on his back, caging him in with his arms. “You need this. It was how you were originally crafted and will have to suffice for now.” Bane nearly shivered himself. In truth a part of him only wanted to touch John more, train him to sit calmly as he studied him. He wanted to take him apart and see how he worked, see what mechanical parts, what wiring, caused him to gasp and blush just like a human when touched in certain places.

But he also wanted to let that other side of himself take over and, rather than suppress it, see what would happen for once. John was still wet when Bane opened his legs with firm, commanding hands. Seeing him like this was exquisite. John could have moaned under Barsad’s touch when he’d handled him before, but no. It was here and now that John’s body responded. It made Bane’s blood boil in a way it never had before.

John couldn’t speak, didn’t feel like it was necessary anymore as he had no say. As Bane got comfortable and began to undress, John stared up at the canopy, at the brass jar on the makeshift bedside table shining in the firelight. As Bane’s hands drifted over his legs and stomach, he wondered where these various trinkets came from. The quilt he tried to cover himself with was handmade and smelled like Bane, like…

He moaned out, closing his legs tight against Bane’s arm, half trying to keep his fingers from going any deeper but holding him in place all the same. He wanted to fight, he did, but this was the only familiar, safe, feeling he had now that he was trapped in this world of unknowns, void of control. He bit his lip and rocked into Bane’s touch until the man pulled back his hand only to pry John’s legs apart.

“Bane.” His nails dug into the human’s ribs, his chest heaving. He was overcome with want as if he’d never been reprogrammed. Something about Bane’s scent was intoxicating. His touch was so different, so harmless now that he wasn't punishing John. The welts from his beatings burned with an ache that travelled straight to his swelling cock. He had to cover his mouth or risk begging Bane to whip him again.

Bane pinned his hand away, experimenting with a hard grind of his hips over John’s. He growled, making John arch his back, his legs wide. Bane wished the robot would open his eyes. He wanted John to see him as much as he needed to see John.

“Bane, please,” John pleaded at last, unable to stand Bane’s exploring hands any longer. He reasoned to himself that he needed this recharge, because the second he had another chance to attack he would need all his strength. He needed this recharge yes, but it was difficult to remember anything past the feeling of being teased like this. His body didn’t want to escape this place at all, if Bane could just… would just…

“I’m going to take you, like those other men. Keep you healthy,” was Bane’s only response, spoken like a promise as he freed his cock and pushed John’s legs out of his way.

He could have cried again when he felt the head of Bane’s cock slide against the slickness surrounding his hole. He pushed at the man’s shoulders, a moment of clarity shining through. “No. Bane, I don’t want—” but he was hushed, his waist squeezed tight in Bane’s arms as he pushed in, forcing John’s body open impatiently.

He turned his face into the quilt now that more than one mercenary was watching John from their safe distance near the bridge. He couldn’t stop from moaning so loud, the blankets doing nothing to stifle the sound. He’d never had a human as large as Bane. His heavy cock curved just so, pushing into John’s spot everytime, sending electricity through every inch of his body. A few slow thrusts in and John was coming hard around Bane.

Bane rutted with a careless intensity, causing John’s systems to nearly short out when he came again not long after the first. All the while Bane stayed tucked closely to John, his arms no doubt leaving bruises around the android’s waist, his mask pressed against his hair. Bane doubted if he’d ever thought sex was going to be like this. He wanted to fuck John until the morning if he could. He slowed down his pace for a moment just to drag another orgasm out of John. Sweat dripped from his brow and down his back, over the deep scratches left in John’s wake whenever he held Bane through the fastest and hardest rutting. He slowed down again just to stave off his own release, but it came tumbling through soon enough.

His arms loosen only a margin around John. He stayed on top of him, still rocking his hips. Even soft, his cock still made John crumble for the fourth time.

The minute his cock harden Bane fucked back into John, though he controlled himself this time making it last. He moved in a careful, calculated way, aiming for that place that had made John scream before and focused on that, fucking with a steady rhythm, eyes on John. He ran a hand over John's stomach. His release was of a similar consistency as his lube and tasted sweet, his skin was fully flushed, lips parted, no longer mindful of his voice. Bane pushed his legs further apart as he and John came together. He watched John with rapt attention as his body rolled through every shudder.

 

John cracked his eyes open, surprised to find that he’d slept for several hours. The fire still burned bright, but beyond the firelight, the tunnels were dark and cold. Most of Bane’s men were sleeping away the remaining hours until morning. 

He shifted onto his stomach, his abs and hips the most sore amongst his various aches. He was wide-awake and noticed that he wasn’t alone. Bane sat at his desk reviewing the blueprint holograms again. He was wearing his back brace and a loose dark shirt now.

The shackle on his ankle didn’t seem as heavy anymore, and he could tell that the welts and bruises on his ass and thighs hadn’t faded at all, but he was clean. Bane must have figured out where his rest control was and put him to sleep, but why? John knew full well that he wasn’t going anywhere so long as he was leashed to the pipe, and after what they'd done... he didn't know what to think anymore, didn't know how to plan from here just yet.  

Bane glanced over when he heard the chain rattle. He watched John in the glowing firelight as John watched him from under the quilts, the pillow tucked comfortably under his head. John waited for Bane to speak, but the man only went back to his work after a second quick glance back.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the short chapter! It's been a rough weekend. More's on the way! <3
> 
> Enjoy.

“I can’t.” John hissed and bit his lip red, but Bane’s hands were like heavy weights on his hips, pulling the android down until he was seated firmly on Bane’s lap.

“Move,” Bane growled, pushing his hips up impatiently, reveling in the android’s whimper.

“I can’t,” John repeated. His knees barely touched the mattress, legs spread too wide. He tried to shift onto his feet, but Bane wouldn’t let go of his legs. He nearly came when Bane rumbled with content beneath him, rubbing circles down John’s hips to his calves as John rolled his hips.

Straddling had always been John’s favorite position with Daggett. He had control. He wasn’t smothered. Now however, all he felt was overwhelmed. Bane’s shear mass alone, from his neck to his shoulders, his waist, his legs, was like trying to straddle and ride a tank. He tried to rock back, but couldn’t get a decent enough rhythm for Bane’s need. He couldn’t breathe whenever Bane thrust up, as if his systems were shorting out from the overload of stimulations.

His own hands looked pathetically small splayed out on Bane’s round stomach or on Bane's thighs when he tried a new angle. It wasn’t fair that John could hardly wrap both hands around the man's neck but Bane’s hands nearly touched when on John's waist.

But John had to be honest with himself. His body made lying impossible. When Bane’s hands began lifting him up and down as if John weighed nothing, it was more than enough to send the android over the edge and left John wanting nothing else but to tumble over that edge again.

Four days had passed and John couldn’t come up with excuses anymore.

John hated Bane—or wanted to. He hated everything he stood for. Most of the time, the only thing John wanted more than simply escaping was the chance to take Bane down himself, to see the man die by his hands, the laws of robotics be damned.

More and more, however, that was replaced by his body’s growing dependence on Bane’s sex.

He couldn’t make any comparisons with those other men who’d taken him before he was derezzed—A fact that he was grateful for, considering the condition they’d left him in. Before Bane, the few unfortunate moments from Foley were the only times he’d ever been with a human other than Daggett that he could remember. Mickey was right. It _was_ different. Sex with Bane hurt like he never knew sex could hurt, beneath the buzz, the high of pleasurable electricity raging through him. But that was only because he was never built for someone Bane’s size, not even close, but it _was_ better.

So much so, that he felt himself dreading Bane's advances less and less. It was dangerous to be so fully charged all the time, to store that much energy in his battery, but... still, fighting Bane off was an afterthought in the face of gaining more power. He couldn’t imagine how even more amplified his system functions would be if he had his disk. Escaping would be easy like this, simple.

Except, communication between his consciousness and his body, particularly focusing on a plan beyond the confines of this little corner, ceased to exist whenever the human was near.

John no longer required touch for his spine to tingle, for his pupils to dilate. His body would start lubricating the second he heard Bane stomping down the stairs or barking orders from the bridge a level above. At first, he was horrified by this, but soon understood its usefulness—Bane would hardly spare a minute of wrestling John onto his back and getting him pliant before taking him with as much vigor as the first time. He would wrap his arms around John as if he feared the android would disappear, or maybe he expected John to pull another knife on him. Judging by way Bane looked at John when they weren't having sex, either fear seemed just as likely.

Bane took fucking John almost like a task that had to fulfilled before he could focus on any other responsibilities. He didn’t need to look at John’s disk to get aroused, but he did, at least once a day. He would watch Daggett or Foley take John with a critical eye and then put everything he had into doing a better job than what he'd seen on the tablet. 

He couldn't explain why, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Bane that his near constant recharging would wear down his battery over time. It wasn’t like his old one, when he’d had only this single function and means of keeping the power on. With Fox’s replacement, all it really took was a few hours out in the sun once a week and he’d be good as new.

Granted, John doubted if saying anything would make a difference. Bane was, after all, enjoying his new toy and nothing could get in the way of that.

He was never far from John if he could help it. Bane had quickly progressed from the stolen glances at his worktable to simply wrapping John up in the quilt and putting him in his lap, or making him sit on the floor near his chair, while he worked.

If John’s ankle wasn’t chained, he might have considered jumping over the landing and ending his life on the spot the first time he’d fallen asleep with his head on Bane’s shoulder. He would stay up, late into the night watching Bane sift through his tablet scroll, make decisions on new building projects, type speeches, and read in his free time. John had no idea when the man actually slept. He _was_ pretty sure that all humans required sleep, at least. But he never asked.

On the second day’s evening, he did have to ask Bane one thing. He had been planted on the floor again after fighting Bane and getting punished. He’d nearly glared a hole into the side Bane’s face and had taken immense pleasure in hacking into every email, every document sent Bane’s way, currupting files and forwarding the passcodes to the androids working with the resisters. He had been in the middle of breaking down another firewall, when Bane set down the tablet and picked up a small, slender wooden stick and a book made out of paper. To John amazement, only half of the book was filled, and the text was uneven, scribbled in places and scratched out in others.

He had blurted out his confusion as he watched Bane writing words like he’d seen only in old movies. John couldn’t be sure if Bane was more surprised that John had never seen a pencil and a paper journal or if he himself was more surprised by Bane’s response. The man actually looked happy to show John his tools. He had several paper books and journals, pencils, pens, and even small capsules of paint that he created illustrations with, almost like a printer or a scanner would. He'd even chuckled when John pointed out all of the flaws and mistakes in his writing and drawings. He had to clean the dark smudges from John’s hands after letting him attempt and fail to write with the pencil. He’d watched with eyes that grew ever fonder as the android quickly mastered writing with the pen. For the rest of the evening, well into the morning, he’d sat petting John’s hair and studying him, pleased with John’s rendering of Gotham’s skyline.

John had to wonder sometimes if Bane liked petting him more than sex. So far, he’d counted John’s eyelashes twice to see if they were all still in tact the next morning, shined a flashlight down his throat and in his ears, made copies of his fingerprints, and asked about his barcode scar several times. He’d mapped a line of bruises down his back just to see which would disappear first, and had John eat a piece of bread just to see him chew. Again, John had no idea why, but he’d taken Bane’s hand in the moments after and placed it over his stomach, knowing that Bane would like to feel the heat radiating from within his skin as he processed and burned down the bread. Bane had pushed John to drink a full glass of water next and marveled when the android couldn't desolve a piece of hard candy in his mouth. He'd swallowed it whole and had to spit it back up when it got lodged in the tiny blades in the top compartment of his stomach that chopped food into smaller bits. All the while, Bane ran his hand over John's stomach and then his back when he'd doubled over in pain.  

It was maddening sometimes, these moments, when John found himself actually enjoying Bane’s touch. He knew it was wrong, knew he was a captive, a slave, and knew his purpose. Bane never allowed him forget that fact. He knew all too well the trauma Bane could inflict, knew that any deviation from his guidelines…well… at least, any deviation worse than those he’d already…

A part of him had figured out that Bane was too invested to destroy him like he threatened. His beatings were no less severe, but... when John caught Bane staring, when he looked up at Bane, John wondered if he was seeing a different person, a different version of Bane that the man kept locked up tight. It was as if Bane kept that part of his self captive the same as he held John.

Of course, that illusion was quickly shattered come morning. Bane was no different, but John was. It was painfully obvious now. His old system was synching with Bane and warring with his reprogramming. It tripped him up every time. Every time Bane afforded the smallest kindness or took him to bed and didn’t break him, his system would bond to him even more, even though John knew it was a false security.

Rocking in the tiny increments that John could manage, he wasn’t feeling as secure today or content. Bane was in a bad mood, and had already busted John’s lip for arguing.

John had already come twice and was getting sore. He had to figure out how to maneuver on top of the massive man or risk getting hurt further if he couldn’t pull at least some ounce of pleasure from Bane.

Bane had stopped rocking into him, his fists at his side. He looked bored almost, annoyed with John's struggling as he tried take him all. They’d never done it this way before. John just couldn't get it to work without Bane's help.

“Harder, John,” Bane commanded, trapping him in a predator’s gaze.

John could only pant, shaking his head. “You’re too big.”

Bane cursed in Arabic and angrily flipped the robot onto his stomach, holding him down with his arms behind his back. Bane mounted him roughly, but his movements were stiff.  He grunted almost as if it hurt to fuck John the way he wanted to. He crushed John beneath him, holding him down and covering his mouth as John came again, squeezing Bane’s cock enough to bring him over the edge at long last.

He didn’t stop his slow thrusts, his cock still hard and ready for another go. He was pleased to see John grind back against him, encouraging Bane to start over.

John blinked, trying to clear his blurry vision as he shivered through the remaining currents of his power surge.

He heard footsteps. Barsad cleared his throat loudly.

Bane wrapped John tight in his arms, fucking him again as if Barsad and the three other men weren’t there.

“Bane,” Barsad tried, eyes respectfully on the ground, though in John’s opinion, it hardly mattered.

When Bane still didn’t stop, John buried his face into the pillow and groaned, too aroused to let his confusion take root. He'd always thought that humans were supposed to be embarrassed in situations like this. John had to wonder if Bane even knew what he was doing was highly irregular, and if he did know that fucking someone in the presence of other people was socially unaccepted, did he care?

Finally Bane spoke. “What is it, brother?”

“You are requested at the Manor. Talia calls for you daily.”

He turned John onto his back and nearly folded him in half, picking up the pace. John tried not to make a sound as Bane hammered into his spot. “I will go later,” Bane growled.

“You said that yesterday,” Barsad patiently reminded him. “And the day before. You have been... neglecting her.”

Even John could hear what Barsad hadn’t outright said. Bane paused, an irritated sigh hissed through his mask. “Indeed,” he lamented, “I have.”

“Transport is ready,” Barsad informed him when Bane simply resumed.

When Barsad urge him again, Bane pulled out with a grunt and rose to his feet. He righted his clothes with a glare as Barsad quickly gathered his utility vest and packed up his tablet.

John rolled onto his stomach again, wrapped up in the blankets. He breathed deeply now that his lungs could finally expand. 

“Remember, John," Bane said, his finger pointed in warning. “Stay put.”

John was too fuzzy from Bane’s release to stifle his snort. Where exactly did Bane think he would he go with a chain on his ankle and no disk?

Bane continued to watch him. "Rest assured that this won’t take long. I expect you to be on your best behavior." Even as he led Barsad and the others to the stairs, he glanced back, wanting nothing more than to return to the cot with John.

+

Bane drummed his fingers against his thumb restlessly. Never before had he wanted to crush Barsad’s neck as much as he did now.

Talia was in a meeting with the directors of the energy and water companies in the room across the hall, and would be in and out of meetings all day. Bane casually paced in circles around her office, thinking – _knowing_ – that he could have stayed with John longer and not wasted all this time.

He glared at Barsad, but the lieutenant refused to take his eyes from the view outside the window.

He _did_ want to see Talia, yes, of course, Bane always wanted to see Talia. She was his leader, his everything. She would always been his everything. John was only temporary, and once he’d outlived his usefulness, John would be destroyed the same as any other android. Everything would go back to the way it was. Besides, it had only been a few days, and he’d learned so much from the little robot already.

But were any of the things he’d learned actually discoveries that he could use and share with his men while hunting androids? Did the thrill Bane felt at overpowering the lethal little abomination matter to anyone else? Would it make a difference at all how prettily John begged if he was only going to be deresolutioned in another day or so? That thought was enough to give him pause, but not enough to sustain any hesitancy. Bane was doing nothing wrong, that was certain. Why couldn’t he indulge like everyone else had? Even Barsad had not been celibate all his life.

Talia’s voice rang out sweetly as she closed the door to her office. “My Bane, what a pleasant surprise. It’s good to see you’re getting some fresh air.” She reached up to place a kiss on his cheek before reclining on the sofa. “Barsad has told me you’ve been very busy.”

It only now occurred to him that he still had yet to claim Daggett’s penthouse like he’d promised her those last few visits. “You must forgive me for my absence,” he grunted, settling into an armchair.

“I see you haven’t been taking much care of yourself, Bane,” she chided, noting the subtle difficulty with which he moved to get comfortable. “How long have you been in pain?”

“Only just this morning, but it is of no concern. The Blackgate men have only been testing my patience.” Among many other things.

“A few of them have been terrorizing the lower districts,” she informed.

Bane nodded, his eyes tight. “I will take care of it.”

“Good.” She smiled. “Now, while we're on the subject of pain, I have something for you.”

He watched her walk to her desk and return with a small clear box of green capsules. “What are these?” He took one out and studied it.

“A prototype for a new analgesic,” she explained. “It should fit here.” The tube hissed when she disconnected it from his mask and slipped the capsule inside, reattaching the piece with an experienced hand.

Bane breathed in deeply. He wanted to say that he felt no change, but it was gradual. His nasal passage cleared and his chest no longer felt so tight, restricted. The more he breathed the more relaxed he felt.

“I know how adverse you are to change, and I don’t blame you,” Talia spoke, her hand gently touching the side of his mask, soothing. “But, sometimes it is necessary.” When he didn’t argue, Talia smiled even brighter. “So tell me, how has the campaign progressed?”

For a moment, Bane wasn’t sure what she meant.

“Progress has been slowing down, but hunting in the tunnels has been a good strategy,” Barsad supplied from his spot in the corner.

Bane cut his eye at him, his thoughts murderous.

“Excellent,” Talia beamed. “There is a borough in northern Gotham still hiding their androids, but I have an idea that should persuade them towards our cause.”

Bane sat forward, intrigued, “What do you have in mind?”

“My informer has told me that there is an elderly couple living in the center of that neighborhood housing as many as six androids. Their neighbors look to them as heroes. One of your androids designated for the Games should be offered freedom in exchanged for killing the man and his wife.”

Bane missed the surprised twitch in Barsad’s brow. He was too busy processing this information, sure that he’d misheard something. “You wish for human blood, Talia? But…that was never the plan.”

“Indeed, but this will be worth it.”

“Is the propaganda not working? The media has done an outstanding job, has it not?”

“Of course. But those tactics won’t work in this case. With the working class and the poor, all we needed was a scapegoat for their poverty, but this borough’s people have always had security and wealth. They want to keep their house pets and servants. We have to prove to them that androids are dangerous if we want them to support the initiative.”

“But,” Bane spoke slowly, carefully, still in mild disbelief, “our raids have been quite successful. The only casualties have been our targets.”

She shook her head, “No, no. These raids have become bad for our publicity, Bane. Dominance and aggression worked well during the siege, but the siege has ended. We need only this one sacrifice and our work will be so much closer to completing. A city – _our_ city - the way _we've_ modeled it, from the ground up, is what's at stake here. Can you do this for me, Bane?”

Bane sat back, his eyes unreadable as he studied Talia. When Barsad shuffled his feet in the corner of Bane’s vision, he stood, relieved that he could move without pain again. "Let me sleep this over.”

Talia stood as well, a pout playing at her lips, though her eyes smoldered with a drive and passion that had always made Bane proud in the past.

“Bane, don’t think I’m a savage. Think of the old days, when we grew strong, having barely anything in the way of comfort but each other and our fires. That is what Gotham needs. Our city will thrive with its hands and hard work, just as we did.”

+

“You’ve never sulked before on a trip to see Talia,” Barsad dared to say as they left the Manor.

“And you have never once felt the need to meddle in my private affairs, brother,” he warned.

“There was never a need. But… now you’re slipping.”

“Am I?”

Barsad took a calming breath, already tired of Bane’s stubbornness. At last, he spoke. “Am I your equal, Bane?”

“Of course.”

“And I have permission to speak freely?”

“Yes. Please.”

His response was blunt. “You’re slipping, and unfocused.” His voice lowered when Bane growled so that the other men couldn’t hear. “Ever since you took the android to your bed, your men never see you.”

Bane blinked. “Have we now resumed our babysitting duties from times passed, Barsad?"

“Not babysitting. _Leading_ , Bane. A break is good, healthy for you, but he is causing you to miss the meetings and the raids. And your work is backed up. We are off schedule.”

“You have followed my lead around the world many times and for many years; surely you ought to know better than most that I am still in complete control.”

Barsad’s eyes narrowed, searching Bane’s until he said, “That is why it is my duty to warn you, brother.”

Bane’s brow rose with surprise. He’d never known Barsad to push boundaries like this before. “And what is this warning?”

“John is…” he searched for the words, “he is, and will always be, a robot. No matter how much pleasure he gives you, don’t allow yourself to get lost in that. John is an android, and as with all of them, they replace humans. It would be much better to take a human lover instead. I am happy that you’ve at last found an outlet, but moderation is the only way to maintain your priority to Talia and her mission, yes?”

If he were any other man, Bane thought. What could Barsad possibly know about anything of this manner? He had been a free man for most of his life while Bane had been born into captivity, swimming in a ocean teaming with predators. What human could understand that enough to fulfill John’s purpose?

“The android cages are getting crowded,” Barsad continued after a minute. “No order has been given as to which ones you want destroyed and which others will go to the Games.”

“Could this not be done in my absence?” he rumbled. He had not trained Barsad and all of his lieutenants for them to be so helpless without his supervision. It was disappointing more than irritating.

Barsad shook his head honestly. “The Blackgate men respond only to your presence, Bane. You are who they fear, no one else.”

The tumbler slowed to the halt in front of the tunnel’s entrance.

“Very well.” Bane and the men made their way underground. When they reached the lower levels, he turned to Barsad and the three others. “Summon the other nine and make sure they are ready within the hour for a hunt through the south tunnels.” Bane clasped a hand on Barsad’s shoulder as the three men nodded and left.

“Now,” he began as he led Barsad to his private corner, “I will return to my captive and enjoy this war spoil until I order his deresolution, understand? Meanwhile, you, Barsad, will prove that you are my equal and lead tonight’s hunt. And designate the Game combatants. Your tasks will be successfully completed, or you will demote yourself to a lower position that does not require as much hard work.”

Bane would fuck John until morning again now that his back wasn’t aching, and he would show Barsad that their operation could survive another night of his indulgence, that it would not harm their progress, and if it did, it would be entirely Barsad’s fault for being a poor leader.

When they reached the landing, it was immediately clear that something was wrong. The men who normally stood guard were missing from their posts. Bane growled, ready to turn the corner and see an empty cot and an abandoned chain, but instead, John was right where Bane’d had told him to be.

Only, the android’s face was splattered in blood, the quilt now dirty and torn but still wrapped tightly around his small body like a cocoon.

He was curled up and staring at the two bodies on the ground near his chained ankle. His right eye was dark and a large bruise marred his cheek.

Bane stomped forward, enraged, but paused when he noticed the multiple tracks of dirt and dust around the cot. John flinched, eyes vacant, when Bane grabbed his jaw.

“John.” The android’s eyes focused only slightly as they locked on Bane’s shoulder. “What happened here?” he demanded, his voice alone making John flinch again.

He shivered, his mouth falling open seemingly of its own accord before John could manage an answer. “I froze.” His voice was raw and rattled from his trembling. “I froze.”

Barsad knelt to examine the bodies. “Only one is fresh.”

Bane looked over the ground again and counted over a dozen different bootprints in the dirt. They all treaded off into different directs.

“These men attacked you and you killed them?” Bane asked. It took a second for his own words to sink in. Attacked. They had attacked his… “Where are the others?” He could feel his rage expanding, burning away all reason. John was a robot built for sex, he was a robot, and robots couldn’t be victims. But… he was Bane's. And they broken him.

All it took for John eyes to overflow with tears was Barsad standing too close. The android was still somewhere else, somewhere… trapped in a constant loop of processing with nowhere to store or hide whatever thoughts…

Bane was careful now when he touched John’s face. “Tell me what happened, tell me where they fled.”

John blinked slowly, his eyes following Barsad warily, a mercenary’s bloody, bent knife was still clutched in his hand. He shook his head. “I froze.”

His hand was at John’s mouth as once, trying to slip his disk back under his tongue. To his amazement, John clamped his mouth shut and refused, knowing exactly what Bane was planning. He shook his head and tried to push Bane away. It was baffling and terrifying. That John would reject his own disk for fear of Bane discovering what had happened.

Bane rose to his feet with a deadly snarl. He stomped in circles, his spine and shoulders aching again under the force of his rage. When his fist hit the wall, a huge dent crumbled from the concrete. His knuckles bled, but it didn’t matter. He turned on John again, wrestling the knife away when the android snapped. Bane ordered Barsad to hold him down as he forced in the chip.

John convulsed as if he were seizing before slowly losing consciousness, his disk channeling all his energy into repairing his damages at once.

Barsad looked on with confusion. “He is dead?”

Bane watched his pupils dilate and contract rapidly, the irises glowing with pale green specks, the way his disk shined whenever Bane touched it. “His trauma is too severe to maintain wakefulness and healing at the same time,” he explained. In John’s idle state Bane was able to get a better look at him. He was littered in bruises from head to toe.

“Barsad, give me your phone,” he ordered. He took John’s hand and mimicked what he’d seen Lucius Fox do on the disk. He pressed John’s index finger to the screen. A rainbow pinwheel spun in the center and a message asking if he wanted to continue while the disk operated on different function blinked at the top of the screen.

It didn’t take long to find the memory he needed. John had been dozing off when the first guard crept onto the cot with a knife. John had killed him easily, but more showed up. It was entirely Bane’s fault, he realized, as John’s words made sense. John would have been able to kill every person down here if they only stepped within the chain’s reach, but the second Bane took his disk aboveground and out of range, John’s systems shut down. He was a sitting duck for the Blackgate men. A small group of Bane’s mercenaries simply stepped back and watched or left the space altogether, as if their hands were no less dirty for not intervening. Only when John’s disk was back in range was he able to fight the rest of them off and kill this second man.

He let John’s hand fall back onto the cot. He got to his feet, his own hands trembling.

“What will happen now?” Barsad had his radio out, ready for Bane’s command.

“We have more than enough good men downtown.” He glanced at Barsad to verify this. “The hunting shall be postponed until the morning. Tonight, we must take down a different prey. Gather the others, even those of ours who participated, and instruct them to block all the exits. When I’m done exterminating the Blackgate conscripts, you have my permission to kill our own as well who defiled this space.”

As Barsad radioed the instructions to the others, Bane pulled out his first-aid kit to clean the blood from John’s face and hands. He was surprised by his relief over the fact that John had been able to kill at least two of his attackers. He used the dirty quilt to sweep away the footprints and retrieved a fresh quilt from a crate beneath his worktable.

He wrapped it around John tightly, but before he and Barsad left to handle the conscripts, he placed John’s stack of clothes near his head as well. If there was ever a time when Bane couldn't make a destinction beween a human's suffering and John's, that time was definitely now.

+ 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rectifier now has fan art! <3 <3 <3 Oh happy day! 
> 
> http://gameter.tumblr.com/
> 
> Enjoy!

+ 

Bane perched up high in the shadows, on a balcony where he could see both the Blackgate men working below and his own henchmen preparing their weapons a level higher.

The air was always filled with the sounds of heavy water flows and subway cars racing throughout the tunnels, but he didn’t need to hear the words of the Blackgate men to know what had them in such an uproariously state.

They were celebrating, with smuggled beer and shared stories illustrated in hands gestures and punctuated with appraising whistles and cheers, just like…

Like in the desert.

In the Pit.

Bane took a walk down to the lower levels, thinking. The day the doctor forgot to close the cell that housed Talia and her mother, Bane learned something about himself, knew then that he was nothing like those men, had never been like those men, and never would be. He’d made two promises to himself whilst holding the little crying child. The first, that he would protect Talia for as long as he lived. The second, that no monstrous injustice like what he’d seen would ever happen again if he could help it. Of course, that was a long time ago.

Making the descent to the level of the Blackgate men, Bane had to marvel at how far he’d fallen since then.

He scoffed, thinking back on Barsad’s warning. Of course John wasn’t human; every man here knew that now, but… But what did Barsad really know about John?

He didn’t know how hard it was to look over at John sleeping on the cot and not forget, even for a second, that he wasn’t human; that the heart beating in his chest was artificial, that the tears he shed were saltless. The android—no, the _boy_ , perhaps; it was difficult even now to make the distinction—was far more human than even Bane had had time yet to discover. That revelation shook something loose deep in Bane’s core. 

Talk on the floor tapered off into an uneasy silence when Bane paused, looking over them all from the same staircase where they’d first went after John. It seemed like such a long time ago. Bane was admittedly surprised that he hadn’t acted sooner.

“Gentleman.” He extended his arms invitingly. A few of the more drunken men cheered back. “It fills me with pride to see you all in such high spirits…” He tilted his head, watching as three men near the south entrance tried to leave only to be met by a locked fenced door; two of Bane’s men lurked on the other side. The three could do nothing but turn silently back to Bane, dread and fear etched deep into their faces.

“It’s not often that I take the time to show my gratitude."

Men in the front murmured in approval, still unaware. "You have all been industrious workers, often laboring around the clock, no matter how cold, no matter how difficult the tasks, ever since I freed you from the hopeless captivity that was Blackgate prison, only a handful of years ago,” Bane continued. “How quickly we tend to forget those dark hollows from which we were risen… You were all desolate, suffocating behind those bars, and I granted you freedom—not once ever demanding to know what deeds sent you to that place. I simply trusted that you were all better men..."

Still the drunker men nodded their heads in agreement, loving Bane's praise.

"You were robbed of your rights, and I gave them back to you, without judgment, without asking for more than just your service in this cause. And you all volunteered. For that, I thank you… _However_ …”

More and more the men began to understand what was happening when they noticed the last of Bane's men standin guard, but none of their own. Bane took a second step. He let his eyes take in each wary pair that watched him back, as if committing their faces to memory, until every man’s gaze was dropped to the ground near his feet.

“However, an incredible affront to the charity I’ve given you has taken place here. I need not explain more.” Bane’s eyes flashed, his anger slipping through tiny cracks in his forced civility.

He took another step. More men were noticing now that they’d been caged in. A few rose to their feet nervously. “This was not the first time such behavior has occured here. That any of you would dare defy me twice..." He shook his head. "What a shame. But life goes on, and I am still a man of my word," he growled. "You know that I must right this wrong if we are to continue this initiative; whether any of you remain a part of it is entirely up to you." Several men turned, glancing from one to another, their panic overwhelming.

"I am offering the perpetrators the opportunity to come forward, to show your faces, to spare those among you who are blameless, and die with one last shred of dignity and respect.”

No one came forward. No one dared. “Fine.” His voice dropped to a murderous level, turning even the air ice cold. “You've all made your choice. I only hope that it was worth it.”

Chairs clattered backwards to the ground as the men closest to Bane jumped up to flee, but Bane was lightning quick. The crunch of breaking spines and ribcages was drowned out in the chaos that ensued.

Bane’s men stood silently, ready to take down any who got too close to the exits and stairs, but it was pointless, really. The fences were locked from the outside. The Blackgate conscripts didn’t stand a chance.

Some pleaded, others tried to fend Bane off, but both hopes were torn out of them as Bane made his way around the room like a raging bull, horns stained with blood. He took on three, sometimes six at a time. And what a shame that none of these men had ever been trained for hand-to-hand combat while soldiering for Gotham’s organized crime. Bane might have had to put forth a little effort, if even a few knew how to use their fists. Instead, he attacked with amplified ferocity as he took them down, one by one...

 

_John studied his reflection in a puddle of rain, keeping the umbrella steady. “Mickey, do you ever wonder what would happen if two androids had sex?”_

_Mickey snorted as he lit another cigarette. He glanced at John under damp lashes, wishing they’d taken a bigger umbrella out on their evening walk through the damaged city. “Most androids aren’t built for sex. I doubt if any of those are even built with half the processing power that we have to even wonder about all the sex they’re missing.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ve thought about it.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_Mickey grinned mischievously, eyes still on John. “And,” he drawled, “I figured there’s no point getting another dick in me when I already got too many humans ones as is.” His smiled widened when John lowered his eyes to the ground. “Unless, of course…you want to… Maybe? Makes sense. And wouldn’t it be great not to have to rely on humans for a recharge—granted if we could even make it work like that. We don’t have the right kind of fluids for it… but, with you, baby, and all your precious innocence, I think it would be nice to try.” He cuffed John playfully with his elbow. “Look at you, little Robin. How long have you had this naughty idea in that cute head of yours? I like it.”_

_John rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his smile. They walked further up the street, formulating a plan for Mickey to pop John’s sex-with-an-android cherry the second Daggett went on his next business trip._

_Gotham didn’t look as depressing at night, even with the construction zones and wreckage from the siege. On nights like these, the rain seemed to wash away a little more of the fear and despair that had_ _for months_ _plagued the city’s people._

_The humans, not the androids. No, the android’s problems were only just beginning._

_“It’s rough, John,” Mickey sighed as they passed a group of protestors blocking an intersection. “We’re lucky. We got Daggett Industries written all over our system programs, but the others…” He shook his head. “And, well... I know you probably don’t understand any of what’s going on, but I overheard Stryver talking to one of those invaders. Daggett Industries is going to start making drones for the League to hunt down the first generation bots and if it's successful, they'll be handing over the deeds to the invaders. Hell…if they do that, then even we won’t be safe.”_

_“But why?” John let Mickey guide him away from the street as an army tumbler rolled past, a bunch of men with old model machine guns corralling the protestors. He held Mickey’s hand tight._

_“Who knows? They’re not like the humans we’re used to. They don’t value the same things.” He crushed the smoldering tip of his cigarette butt and tossed it in a puddle, his walk slowed. “And what a shame,” he lamented, distracted. “We’re the best made, rare and perfect. But we’re just the tip of the iceberg. There’s no telling what a few years would mean for android production. There are androids that build, extinguish fires, perform surgeries, babysit, fucking defuse bombs… And imagine what kind of upgrades we could get someday. I mean…with me, I know most of the shit I say and do is rehashed, recycled from some older model. I’m the best of the best, and yet my systems can’t even fathom the world that exists beyond me and what I’m programmed to do. I try to search, try to will my mind to progress on its own, to actually, truly…learn, and… But I just run into empty space every time. Empty space that I can’t even access on my own. Instead I get stuck having to wait for some human to access it for me—but it would still never really be for me. My head just gets filled with more of what Daggett wants.”_

_He glanced at John, willing him to relate, but John only blinked back, always hearing but never truly absorbing Mickey’s higher-level concepts. Mickey’s shoulder’s slumped. He sighed. “Fuck, look at you. God, what I’d give just for you to have a proper upgrade, even a basic one, John. Whatever Daggett’s been ordering for you, system-wise, is a joke—no offense. But maybe then I wouldn’t have to talk to myself all the time.”_

_John shrugged a shoulder. “It’s okay. I like hearing you talk.”_

_“Because you’re programmed to like hearing people talk, John. I want to know what you have to say, I want to hear you, I want—” He snorted. “Who am I kidding?” His smiled faded as he looked out at the blocks ahead. “None of it will matter in the end, if we’re all just getting derezzed in a few months or years. All the possibilities in store for us…all that progress, will just be…lost in time," he looked up at the night sky through the rain, at the helicopter flying up high and the construction cranes towering overhead, "like tears in rain." He glanced over at John, a faint smile growing on his lips again when the other android pitifully missed his reference._

_A man in dirty clothes perched on the hood of a tumbler whistled at John. Mickey looped his arm in the crook of John’s elbow. “Come on, let’s get out of here before we drown in this fucking downpour.”_

_They crossed two blocks and circled around before John finally noticed something was wrong. The way back to the penthouse was nearly a straight shot, but the traffic was too heavy and blocked to get there without having to stop. Mickey looked over his shoulder every block and diverted their path whenever the way was too congested to get through._

_John frowned. “Who are you looking for?”_

_Mickey sighed, slowing down again when they reached another blocked intersection, searching for a quicker way around. “I’m not looking for someone, baby, I’m looking for the absence of someone,” he explained. “We’re being followed—don’t look!” he hissed. “Jesus, I will never long for the days of taxis more than I do right now.” He rounded a deserted corner and was met with the dead end of an alley. “Oh, fuck me.”_

_John clutched his arm as they turned around, a second man joining the first._

_Mickey rolled his eyes as the men neared, the skinny man from the tumbler following close behind the burlier one who’d been waiting for them._

_The skinny man grinned under his soaked cap. _“Look what we got here. Hey, kitty kitties."__

_Mickey pulled John’s arm gently, trying to move them both out of a position of being boxed in. “I know what you’re thinking, but we don’t have any money.”_

_"Oh, we don't need money." The larger man smiled. “You boys plastic, or human?”_

_“Would you have followed us if you didn’t know?”_

_The first man chuckled to his partner. “He’s got a mouth on him, this one. He’s mine.” He pointed his chin at John. “You take that one and see what you can sell him for.”_

_Mickey held out his hand to stop him from getting closer, his other arm shielding John. “Fine. Look, you guys can scan my barcode as proof. I’m classified as a freelancer, but he’s not. Okay? You got me, but you have to let him walk away. His owner’s not going to tolerate anybody else touching him.” He nudged at John to step away and had to nearly pushed him in the end to get him to move further out of the man’s reach. He whispered low so that only John could hear, “Get lost. Tell Daggett. We’ve got locators on our disks. I’ll be fine.” He nudged John again when the android only held him tighter. “Don’t be scared, okay? I’ll be right behind you in a bit. Go.”_

_John was given the umbrella and pushed around the other men who still both leered at him. It gave Mickey the chance he needed to push both men aside, sending them falling against the dumpster on the opposite wall. He grabbed John’s hand and took off but couldn’t make it far. The first man got him by his hair and pulled him away._

_John stared, wide-eyed and paralyzed as Mickey was wrestled against the brick wall._

_The second man, with dark eyes that John recognized but had no idea how, turned to him, knife in hand. John took a step back, completely torn. He had to stay with Mickey like Daggett told him to, but Mickey was yelling at him to run. He’d never seen Mickey fight a human before. He didn’t understand._

_Mickey threw his head back into the nose of the man behind him, temporarily free. “John, go! They’ll ruined you, you idiot, run!” But the man recovered, sending his knee hard into Mickey’s stomach and pinning him again._

_“But…” Daggett’s men looked mean too, and they always hugged Mickey the same way as this man did before they would take him off somewhere… but these weren’t Daggett’s men, where they? John took another step back. “I can’t leave you. We were told not to—”_

_“It’s okay, sugar,” the second man cooed, edging forward. “Daddy’s gunna take care of you.”_

_Mickey growled, breaking free again. He jumped on the man’s back, arms wrapped tight around his neck before the man could grab John. “Don’t touch him!” Mickey took the thug to the ground, trying his best to strangle him, but he was outnumbered with the first man still. “He belongs to John Daggett, okay? His people will have you killed if you put one finger on his property.” He was dragged his to feet by his hair. “John, go. Please!”_

_The second man got to his feet, seething with rage. “You almost broke my wrist, you freak!” He grabbed one of Mickey’s, twisting it though he couldn’t break it, his grip too slippery in the downpour. “And you should know, you plastic bitch, our boss owns Daggett. He answers to League, the League is run by Bane, and Bane lets us have free reign. Now, Roger’s gunna make you pay for disrespecting me. Get his hands.”_

_At last, it all made sense what John needed to do. The violence, the fear in Mickey’s eyes, the danger they both faced. This was what Mickey had warned him about, other humans trying to steal them and worse. The thought terrified him down to the wiring, but he couldn’t leave. He picked up a brick, unsure of what to do with it at first, but he rushed at them, coming down hard on his own attacker’s back. The man groaned painfully, falling to the ground, but he didn’t get up again._

_“I’ll teach you a lesson, you whore,” John heard the other man say right before he cut off Mickey’s index finger._

_John watched the scene unfold in disbelief. Screams from Mickey’s assailant filled the air only for what seemed like a split second. The alley was blinding, with flashes of white light, as the exposed live wires in Mickey’s hand met the rain-soaked brick, and his attacker’s knife blade._

_The electric shock was enough to kill the man within seconds. Mickey trembled through a seizure on the ground as the electricity shorted out his disk, until his emergency override severed the current in his hand._

_The thug with the bruised back pushed past John, nearly knocking him over, as he rushed to his partner’s body. He turned, staring from John to Mickey with the same mix of anger and fear once shining bright in Mickey’s eyes. “I’ll get you for this,” he swore, jabbing his finger in the air at John. “I will.” He took off without another word._

_John quickly pulled Mickey under a door awning and tugged him into his lap, nearly tearing at his wrist to get his own disk to release. He pressed Mickey’s palm feeling the metal bones under his skin radiate with residual, burning heat. When the chip’s dock opened at last, he carefully touched his disk to Mickey’s trying to keep them both dry._

_John's vision blacked out for a second as Mickey jolted, choking on the air in his convulsing lungs, his eyes still rolled back. John could barely hold on. He’d never done anything like this before and wasn’t entirely sure it was a good idea. Their disks both spun through their communion with a terrifying ferocity. Images, experiences, words that John didn’t know, but that Mickey spoke fluently, swirled in his head. He stared out into the night sky as if seeing it with clarity for the first time._

_Mickey’s eyes focused on John, blinking slowly. “John,” he gritted out. “Why…the fuck…are you still…here?” His teeth chattered as his disk pulled power from John’s, trying to get his main system components to function._

_“I couldn’t leave you.”_

_Mickey raised his shaking hand up to pat John’s cheek. “John. Always such a good boy… A good…stupid…stupid…boy.” He coughed, willing his lungs to decompress. “What happened? That fucker cut off my finger. Did I fry him or…?”_

_“To a fucking crisp,” John muttered. “Not bad.”_

_Mickey’s eyes shot back to John’s face, stunned out of his fog by John's surprising sarcasm. “When did you...” His brow rose when he glanced at their communing disks. “Oh no…”_

_John’s frown returned, his eyes wide and innocent with growing panic. “What? Did I do something wrong?”_

_"Shhh." He patted John’s cheek again. “Don’t worry… You did the right thing… Yeah, you’ll be just fine.” He tried to sit up, but his vision blurred again._

_John stared down at him, still worrying. “Daggett should be looking for us by now. Mickey? What’s…”_

_“I have a life on my hands.” He stared as if in a daze at his damaged hand. He held John’s arm when he moved to push Mickey’s wet hair from his face. “ John, I know we play around a lot, but… Please don’t tell anyone. Okay?”_

_“But you didn’t do anything wrong, you…they hurt you. They were going to hurt both of us.”_

_Mickey shook his head slowly. “You know the laws. Androids get derezzed for less than murder all the time, John.”_

_“Okay. I promise.” John channeled all the power he had left to half carry, half drag Mickey out to the street until the android could gather his bearings._

_“You’re such a good boy, John, but I need you to keep this secret for me. Yeah?” His grip on John tightened as they passed a small group of protestors outside of city hall. Even in the dark and rain, even with more tumblers and armed men crashing through their crowds, the humans still fought against the new regime._

_Those humans didn’t know how lucky they had it, compared to all the androids that were disappearing. Not yet._

_“I promise.”_

 

Screams and shouting echoed down through the sewer levels.

John cracked open his eyes, but still couldn’t see. He heard a multitude of sounds but none registered.

He tried to reconnect with his Wi-Fi to gain some of his bearings. He had been dreaming—or what he interpreted as dreams; little blips from the past hiccupped in his hard drive, always prompted by some relevant event. What that event was, he didn’t know. Trying to think only made his head swim.

He had no recollection of where he was or how he’d gotten here. His systems – he now remembered that he had two instead of the customary one, which helped to jog his memory - were both convinced that it was okay to close his eyes again. If he was in danger, at least pretending to sleep might buy him some more time.

John wanted to stretch out on his back and found that his limbs were also not responding, almost like he’d been put into a rest setting, though he could still feel pain.

It radiated up and down his spine, soaked into his shoulders, his hips. His disk was burning hot under his tongue with the amount of repair programs it was currently tasked with. John could tell that a lot had already been completed while he was…

Dead? No, deresolution was an entirely different concept than this. John was still very much alive. He _had_ died once, but he’d been saved.

But… that was a long time ago. With his systems still offline, he couldn’t know what the date was or his location, though he knew he wasn’t—dumpster—Bruce Wayne dead—Mickey— _Bane_. At last the signal connected with a click like an old record player. John blinked until he could see more clearly and groaned, the full extent of his pain no longer muted, his memory no longer disoriented.

There were once two bodies on the floor. Blood still stained the dirty concrete. _Dirty clothes…familiar eyes._

John’s brain was too muddled to sift back through those memory files to find those eyes. He’d known one of those dead, but he couldn’t figure out how, nor did he have the strength.

His systems must have shut down again for some time, because when he blinked, Bane was sitting on the cot, hovering over John with a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you well?” Bane’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle.

John could only shake his head once, but Bane understood. 

He rose to his feet with a bit of stiffness and carefully unfolded John from the new quilt.

John noticed for the first time a spot of discoloration at the far corner of his right eye’s vision. It changed from pink, to green and blue, and back to pink again when he looked at certain objects. This defect, however, was the least of his worries.

“No, don't,” he argued, his own voice strained and weak. He felt like a ragdoll in Bane’s hands.

“Easy, John.” Bane never stopped his careful work. “No harm will come from me over simple clothes.”

But John remembered very clearly that harm – a lot of harm – had in fact once come his way after being forced to remove these same clothes that Bane was now slipping back onto John’s limbs. “Why is it so quiet here now?” he managed to ask. Beyond the waterfall, the open spaces seemed completely vacant.

“The tunnels are in the process of a major redistribution of resources and manpower. The former Blackgate prisoners are no more,” he answered simply, buttoning John’s pants. His fingers lingered over the zipper only for a moment until he sat back to refasten the chain on John’s ankle. For once, Bane kept his hands folded in his lap rather than touch the android more.

John finally shifted enough to get his back supported on the crates. “You know what happened.”

It wasn’t a question, but Bane answered anyways. “Yes. But I do not entirely know why it happened, or more importantly, perhaps, how.”

“You employed… criminals; criminals who were in prison for all sorts of terrible things they’d done to other humans. What did you expect? I'm just a—” He blinked rapidly. “Sorry. I… I didn’t—”

“Does this happen often, the freezing?” Bane asked as if he hadn’t heard John speak.

John opened and closed his mouth several times, momentarily drawing a blank again. His systems were still struggling. He wished he could go back to sleep and wake up at Mickey’s apartment. His friend had to be worried about—but Mickey was missing. How could John have forgotten that? “Disks aren’t supposed to travel without their hosts. We can’t function.”

Bane shook his head, confused. “I’ve never witnessed this before. Do you…remember…” 

John stared down at his hands, remembering rain, but still not able to process why. “Everything locks up, shuts down. Like a mannequin. It happens to preserve all power until the disk is back in range.”

“But then, how…” Bane found his words hard to convey.

John’s eyes met Bane’s. “My joints hurt, so I guess they must have broken them in order to move me.” The fingers on his left hand were still numb, the wiring pinched and severed from cracked screws and bolts in his wrist. His knee was also out of alignment. He couldn’t be in worse shape if he tried.

“Is any of the damage too severe to heal?”

He glanced at Bane’s back where the thick scar was hidden under his black jacket. _I killed him_. John’s systems remerged back into symbiotic structures. He understood now. “I don’t know yet…I…” Those familiar eyes had been as cold as they had been so long ago in that alley. The man had recognized John and inacted his revenge, but…John had taken his life for it. He studied his hands again.

All this time, he'd kept Mickey’s secret as promised. But now, who was going to protect John’s?

“I have blood on my hands,” he blurted. He met Bane’s eyes with none of the man’s strength or confidence.

Bane raised his brow. “As did I, several minutes ago.” He retrieved his first-aid kit with its supplies and went to work cleaning John’s hands. “And I intend to have more blood, now that I have made sure that you are safe again.”

It dawned on John that Bane had killed for him. The reality had him utterly perplexed. Compared to those men and their work, what did John’s artificial life, of all things, matter to Bane?

“Those of my men who participated shall also meet their end on this evening. I must make an example on your behalf.” He got to his feet and made one step before John stopped him with another question. 

“Why?”

Bane hesitated before turning back. “I told you before. You belong to me. No one else.”

John could only watch him take the stairs and disappear, as more shouting and fighting broke out on another level of the tunnels. He sat still in open wonder, his disk spinning under his tongue, long after Bane left.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY FOR ALL THE NON-UPDATES! D: 
> 
> Life happened. Crappy, crappy life happened. But things are getting back on track! And I've entered into my first Inception challenge aka Reverse Bang! :D 
> 
> Woot woot!
> 
> Anyways, enjoy! I'm going to try to get two updates out this weekend, so stay posted for the second one!
> 
> [this chapter's got one or two graphic descriptions that might be triggering, might not be. best to be sure, of course. if you're squeamish when it comes to surgical stuff, it's brief, but be warned]

+

John could feel errors in his systems and imperfections in his body that made him nervous, because no matter how much he pushed his disk to make more repairs, it had stopped spinning.

The dashboard for his interface was showing him information that had to be incorrect.

His battery couldn’t possibly be…because there was simply no way, that after all that had happened… Only, he could feel it. The fatigue in his shoulders, his body temperature dropping as his secondary functions ceased, the snail’s pace of his WiFi. He was exhausted. He really did only have a meager seventeen percent of power left in his battery.

That must have been why his disk had stopped its repair programs. It made no sense. He knew the repairs had cost him at least half of that percentage, but the rest? It should have easily been replenished.

John sat up straighter, feeling odd in his t-shirt and jeans after being naked for so many days. He could feel the evidence still inside him from the attack, but there hadn’t been a single recharge. Not one uptick of a percent had been logged in his records.

Moving gingerly to roll up his pants leg and inspect his knee, he could tell that his body hadn’t responded at all before he’d frozen. A startlingly curious thing, considering how little it normally took for his body to simulate arousal. It had never been an issue of want before. Surely that couldn’t be the case now.

He shook his head and felt a strain in his neck. It didn’t matter why his body hadn’t operated correctly; it was over now. Fighting still carried on in the other levels. Seventeen percent could carry him into the morning, and he was sure that by then Bane would be back and everything would return to normal.

John stared at his aching knee through the discoloring in his eye. Neither problem could be fixed without causing him further pain in the process. He balled his numb hand into a fist, then pinched the topside of his palm. The wrist break had severed the sensory wiring, but not his hand’s motor functions. He remembered being able to move during Fox’s droid repairs. Surely if he could figure out how to shut down his sensory receptors, even if just long enough to fix his eye, then perhaps he could get through the worst of it.

He held back a groan when pain shot up his legs as he stood, trying to remember where Bane kept his tools. Searching the through crates around his worktable, John made a note to take the tablet on his way back.

Another crate was pulled out and opened. He took the small stack of paper journals out and placed them on the edge of the table as he rummaged, finally locating Bane's medical supplies.

John sat back on the cot, taking a deep breath. It took a second to remember which finger housed his data sharing port, but when he touched the tablet’s screen he was able to extract his manual from his memory and sync his injury report into the 3-D model that appeared.

The hologram was focused in to display only his spinal column first. The length of his wiring lit up in a multitude of colors.

He took another calming breath and focused on the orange cord's location on the back of the model's nek. The puncture wound near his barcode scar was small, throbbing the moment John switched from the blade to a makeshift clamp, searching for the right wire by feel alone. He broke the clamp by mistake when he brushed the wrong wire and had to pause in search of a replacement tool. He breathed deeply, focusing his efforts, and felt his body begin to numb at once.

He wiggled his bare toes with relief that he hadn't damamged anything in the process. It was an understatement to say that no longer feeling the bed under his legs or the draft of cool air flowing in from the stairs was odd. Having to function or move based solely on programmed commands seemed foreign, wrong. Not to mention, his battery lost four more percent when his operating systems tried to overcompensate for the absence of new sensory data.

John adjusted the hologram with difficulty, until it focused on the right side of the model guide’s face. The front of his t-shirt was spotted with the few unshed tears that slipped free when he detached his eye from its rod and cone ports.

Cracked. Impossible to fix with the low-grade sealant in Bane’s supplies. He would have to make do until he could escape back to Lucius Fox. For now, he carefully reattached the hollow ball to the ports, rotating until the cracked side was no longer blocking his peripheral view, and blinked until it clicked back in place.

Repairing his knee took much longer. It was different than taking out his eye. In spite of how uncomfortable it was to see his eye in his hand, cutting into his skin, seeing it happen and feeling nothing, was a little… _overwhelming_ , to say the least. John knew what surgeries looked like for humans. All blood, muscle, and bone, but the wires and tendons in his knee were like the inside of every robot’s, with a little extra money put into its production. Beneath his wires and stretchy tendons, the titanium bones shined bright and polished. He took his time resetting his kneecap and realigning the snapped ligaments, all the while curiously wondering if Bane had ever had to perform his own repairs too, so littered with scars, and how much different it would be, working through both blood _and_ unavoidable pain. 

Taking the clamp off the main sensory wire only brought back a dull ache compared to how he’d felt before, but John’s shoulders slumped. His left hand was still numb, and any attempts at repairs would take an extra hand he didn't have.

The lower levels were silent again as he tied off the last of the stitches.

John made his way back to the worktable with a more stabilized gait. Every tool was put back in its original place even though the rest of the crate’s supplies were nowhere near as tidy.

He reached with his unfeeling hand for the papers and journals and sent them all tumbling to the ground. He hurried to collect them and sort them out, but paused when he recognized the journal that Bane had used to teach him how to write near the bottom of the pile. Several pages were bookmarked and the cover worn, as if it had spent the last several years traveling the world in Bane’s coat pocket. Perhaps it had.

It took all of twelve milliseconds for John to get over any moral doubts or guilt over invading Bane’s privacy. He understood his and Bane’s captor and captive power dynamics quite well. He even let himself crack a smile as that understanding was tucked away at the very back of mind. He sat cross-legged on the ground and zoomed through the book’s pages.

This was Bane’s hard drive of memories on paper. Could very well be the storehouse to every secret, every weakness Bane had ever had.

John absorbed it all in a matter of seconds. When he finished, however, he couldn’t be more disappointed.

It began with his thoughts on Talia and her father, his pride over seeing her in charge, and on to several choice feelings about his lieutenant that John imagined would cause an awful lot of problems if the man ever saw what was written, but other than that?

Bane had several chapters on John’s scar alone. He’d bookmarked the pages where John’s scribbling began and ended in a much more developed script. Every handful of pages was a drawing the android sitting on the floor, or sleeping, even just sitting on the cot looking out at the waterfall at times when John had thought for sure that the other man was hard at work.

John fought the urge to correct the errors in Bane’s script and drawings, still too accustomed to the norm of keyed in words and scans, even the old practice of taking photos.

Bane was perhaps the oddest human John had ever met. If he were an android, his purpose would be John, his functions and programming, his recharge, would be John. All of Bane's responsibilities and tasks seemed inexplicably secondary to his careful studying of John. He'd had written notes, from the time he’d first had a chance to sit down and touch John, to his feelings about John’s fighting skills, all the way up until this morning. John could easily remember coming here so many days ago and Bane referring to him only as 'it' but yet, in these pages, he was a boy. That sent a surprise tingle of pleasure up John's spine, increasing his energy by six percent.

Bane thought John was beautiful, deadly, filled to the brim with potential. He made mention of a growing addiction for the robot. It terrified Bane in one paragraph, but in the following two, he could hardly wait to see what John was capable of next.

John’s brow furrowed with complete confusion. This was an awful lot for Bane to write when he could have just written one sentence, that he wasn’t going to kill John becuase he found him interesting. John didn’t understand the rest. Daggett had certainly never written a word about John's dimples, let alone anything else, and if there was one person who should have been a critically intrigued, should have been his maker, right?

He put the books and the crates back, sad that he hadn’t found anything in those pages.

He yawned a moment before the battery icon on his dashboard blinked red and decided that now was a good time to tap into his fuller power reserves and sleep until Bane returned.

John sat on the cot with a snort. Yesterday, the last person in the world he ever wanted to see was Bane. Now?

He wouldn’t admit that he was desperate, or deep down, now that his mind was no longer paralyzed with pain and he had time to think about it, scared to be alone again in such a vulnerable state. No one ever attacked him when Bane was within hearing distance, at least. And he'd pick getting his ass kicked by Bane over a mob without question. But he _was_ desperate for Bane to come back.

As much as he hated it, deep down, he really was. 

+


End file.
